


On the Road to Find Out

by JustAnotherQueer



Series: The Road to Eden [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel Wings, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ash Vs. the Evil Dead type gore, Background Relationships, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Child Neglect, Demons actually look demonic, Destiel - Freeform, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Friends to Lovers, Graphic Description, Human Cas is Badass, Human Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Let Dean Winchester say fuck, Love for the minor characters, M/M, Medicinal Marijuana, Men of Letters Bunker, Mentions of Alcohol Abuse, Minor Crowley/Dean Winchester, Minor Original Character(s), Multi, Next Generation Winchester(s), Organized Hunter/Men of Letters network, Original Transwoman Character, Pansexual Castiel (Supernatural), Plot, Plot Driven, Plot Twists, Realistic, Season 9 Re-Write, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Team Free Will, Team Free Will 2.0, The CGI we could've had, Trans Female Character, Underage Drinking, minor mentions of rape, original child character - Freeform, some fluff and humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-06-29 03:40:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15721236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAnotherQueer/pseuds/JustAnotherQueer
Summary: After the Angels fall, the veil falls from Humanity's eyes, and suddenly, humans are able to see Monsters, Demons, and Angels for what they are; Dean, Cas, and Sam have to struggle with the horrific reality that the things they hunt are revealing themselves, wreaking havoc on humanity in ways they never had before- and the inevitability that the world as they know it is changing. With Cas human, the Gates of Hell still open, and Angels running wild- The only way to survive may be to put trust in other Hunters; to build a future where they just might have an upper hand - but that requires trust. Something Dean Winchester has never been good at.I basically wanted to explore some of my favorite concepts of season 9 while doing justice to HumanCas and spattering in some of my own concepts, and write things a bit grittier. Destiel is basically canon to me, so it's going to be very present throughout the plot and will be the main relationship.





	1. Miles From Nowhere

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! This is just me expressing my frustration at how often the writers move on from characters, abandon concepts, kill off characters, or just drop the ball after all the hype. It's set just after the season 8 finale, and some of the dialogue will be lifted directly from the show. Brianna Hildebrand- who plays Negasonic Teenage Warhead- was inspiration for the character Harley (for reasons that will become clear in time). Mostly, I was just frustrated about how the writers chose to write Human Cas, and at how generally unorganized the Hunters are. Some of the plot will be similar to the show in some ways, but it will diverge in others. This is my first fic, it's ambitious and full of big ideas- and knowing me, probably won't be all that short. It will be dark and gritty, but I'm going to make sure there's fluff scattered around; I'm on this crazy train now, and all I can do is hope some of you guys are crazy enough to come with me, comments and kudos would be much appreciated! I'm not exactly sure how often I'll be able to update this, _but I'll try to make it as frequent as I can!_

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The angels fall, the gates of hell remain open; Dean grapples with the effects the Trials take on Sam's health, and must figure out some way to save his brother's life. Newly human, Castiel is forced to face the consequences of his folly, with a little help from an unexpected stranger.

“I got you little brother. You’re gonna be just fine.” Dean shouldered the church doors open, bursting through them; his voice strained under the effort of hauling Sam’s weight; it’s all he can do to stagger to the Impala; Sam represses a scream with a groan as he collapses against the side of the trunk, his face a twisted grimace of pain.

Dean’s rapidly beating heart jumped to his throat as Sam continued to gasp in agony, his labored breaths turning into harsh wheezing, his gaze unfocused and far away. The moment of relief Dean had felt watching the glow disappear from Sam’s arms now felt like a cosmic joke. Dean’s hands were shaking as he grasped at Sam’s shoulders, panic and desperation pressing in on his lungs made his voice pour out in a scream, “Cas?!” When he didn’t hear the tell-tale flutter of wings his voice rose to a shriek, _“Castiel?!”_   Silence greats him, broken only by Sam’s tortured breathing and moans of pain; he could almost hear the universe laughing at him.

“Where the hell are you?” Dean muttered under his breath as he turned back to Sam. A large uncomfortable stone settled in his chest as he looked at Sam’s pale, sweaty face. Looking into his brother’s glassy eyes Dean was forced to consider that help may not be coming; that Cas could... he could be- _No, don’t think about that now_ , a voice that sounded much like his father’s interjected, _keep moving. To hesitate is to die._ Dean moves on autopilot, pushing Sam into a sitting position while he tries to think of what to do until Cas appears to heal Sam- because he would- Dean couldn’t afford to think otherwise. Any second now, the angel would appear with windswept hair and crumpled trench coat and everything would be-

Thunder crashed above them- though he had seen no lightning, and he wind picked up around them, howling in his ears. With a growing sense of dread he looked around and that was when he saw it; reflected on the inky blackness of Impala’s rain soaked paint- a glow of light like the setting sun. Dean turned his eyes to the stars to see scattered dots of light bloom across the sky- shining through the clouds and blossoming in the inky darkness. “No, Cas,” he breathed, his heart plummeting faster than the sight before him.

As he watched in growing horror, one of the streaks of light in the center of the sky glowed a brighter and fiery orange as it hurtled toward the earth like a meteorite. The angel struck the earth like a comet- the impact seemed to shift the very earth under them; Dean felt Sam jump at the force of the crash- as debris, water, and chunks of earth landed on and around them, bouncing off the Impala’s frame. Dean looked in dread at the crater, he couldn’t see anything through the smoke rising out of the center but he could smell it- not unlike burning hair- but Dean knew it was something else entirely.

“What’s happening?” Sam gasped through gritted teeth, pale face turned upward, his red-rimmed glassy eyes fixed on the vast expanse of horizon.

“Angels.” Dean answered solemnly, dread spreading slowly through his body. “They’re falling.”

 

*****

 

Castiel woke slowly on the forest floor. He opened his eyes and blinked at the treetops, his head felt strangely light and his heart thudded in his chest in a way it never had before. The damp leaves rustled underneath him as he pushed himself to his feet, the lightness in his head giving way to dizziness as he stepped through the trees, already casting his gaze skyward. Ignoring the dizziness in his head and tightness in his chest, he jogged forward, trying to catch a glimpse of the sky unfiltered by the treetops. When he finally emerged into a clearing, the sight above him halted him in his tracks. Everywhere, as far as the eye could see, across the wide horizon, Cas’s failure was laid bare for the world to see.

All around him, the Angels fell. All around him, his family burned. The unfamiliar tightness in his chest seemed to expand, crushing his vessel’s lungs and leaving him with an odd sense of emptiness- vaguely he thought quietly to himself that something so horrifying hardly had any right to appear so beautiful.

He watched. He watched as his work crumbled around him, as his hopes and the only home he had ever known fell from the sky. He stood there until the last visible streak of light disappeared beyond the horizon, along with any hope of redeeming heaven. Only the darkness of the forest greeted him as the incets began to chirp and buzz, having previously been struck silent by the biblical event that unfolded in the sky.

A moment later, and a cold breeze swept through the clearing making Castiel shiver for the first time in his very long life. It began to dawn on him, that for the first time, he was truly human- and he was truly alone. Distantly, he recalled something Dean had said to him once, and the echo of his voice seemed to uproot Cas from where he stood. The former angel took a deep breath and began walking- Dean’s words repeating after every step. _Keep moving. To hesitate is to die._

 

*****

 

Today was supposed to be the day. Heaven, hell, they were supposed to be rid of it all... and instead- instead Sam was lying in a hospital bed, clinging to life. Back at the church, after the first angel had made impact, Sam started to cough up blood, the wet noise of it rattling in his lungs, fueling Dean’s panic as he sped to the nearest hospital. How many times has Dean been in hospital rooms like this one, sat in uncomfortable plastic chairs, helpless to help his loved ones as they struggled to live? One time too fucking many.

He glances at the TV to avoid looking at Sam’s unresponsive face and wishes he hadn't. Practically every station was reporting on what they referred to as a, “Global Meteor Shower.” Fucking idiots. Once again, it feels like his world is coming down around him- yet life goes on. People go to work, drop their kids off at school, take shits, all with the comfortable knowledge secure in place that life will go on; that tomorrow will be another boring Tuesday. Dean can’t fucking believe it, ‘round and ‘round humanity goes and here he is again, in another fucking hospital chair.

His eyes settle again on Sam’s face, his chest rising and falling- assisted by machines. Brain dead. Sam could be brain dead. The smartass little kid Dean raised, the intelligent and driven young man who pushed himself through law school... brain dead. Dean had dealt with a lot of different kinds of “dead” in his life, but never this.

He thought back to the Doctor’s words, _“I’m afraid that’s in God’s hands now.”_ When the doctor said that, Dean could practically hear the universe laugh at him again. What a fucking dick. The idea that God had anything to do with his current bullshit of a situation had him seething. He stood up, suddenly unable to look at Sam a minute longer and went to stand in the hall. His eyes fell on the sign directing people to the chapel, and without thinking his feet moved and he found himself walking where the arrow directed him.

He sat down heavily, he was one of the few people there. It was true, none of this was in God’s hands, and Dean had no doubt that the man upstairs would ignore his prayer, but he’d never prayed to God before anyway and he wasn’t about to start now. “Cas, you there?” he says to no response. “Sammy’s hurt.” He continues, voice cracking, “He’s hurt, uh- he’s hurt pretty bad. And um...” he pauses and hopes, wherever he is, that Cas can hear him. “I know you think that I’m pissed at you, okay? But I don’t care that the Angels fell. So whatever you did, or didn’t do, it doesn’t matter okay? We’ll work it out.” Dean’s eyes scan the room, but there’s still no sight of a tan trench coat, no ruffle of feathers. “Please, man, I need you here.” Dean’s pleas fall into the silence of the room, and as he looks around something in him hardens. Resolves.

“Screw it.” he says. He’s out of options. If Cas hasn't appeared by now, it was obvious he couldn’t, and Dean would be god-fucking-damned if he lost Sammy too. He squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath before praying, “Okay, listen up. This one goes out to any angel with their ears on. This is Dean Winchester...” Dean grits his teeth and closes his eyes, wishing he had another alternative, “...and I need your help. The deal is this- Linwood Memorial Hospital, Randolph, New York. The first one who can help me gets my help in return, and you know that ain’t nothin’. Hell, it’s no secret that we haven’t always seen eye to eye. But you know that I am good for my word, and, uh,” Dean’s voice falters and his throat burns as tears fill his eyes, “I wouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t needing, so...” his voice breaks and he finds he can’t continue as the tears spill over. He brings his folded hands to his forehead and breathes deeply as he tries to get himself under control.

If Dean’s being honest with himself, which he rarely fucking _is_ , he expects his prayer of desperation will go unanswered. Cas was the only angel who ever saw something worth saving in them, and it’s highly possible sending out his location on Angel Radio was a stupid fucking move, but he has no more cards to play. Cas was lost- he had to do something to avoid losing Sammy. He didn’t think he could live with it, not after what Sam said to him in that church.

Dean looks around the chapel one last time and finds he has nothing else to offer, nothing more to say, and no one to say it to, so he stands up amongst the faithful in the pews and leaves without looking back.

 

*****

 

Eventually, Cas found a road. He had walked nearly through the night before his shoes touched the asphalt, the pink glow of dawn barely staining the horizon. He finds that his legs ache, his limbs hang heavy, and perspiration covers his brow and runs down the back of his neck. Despite this, Castiel pushes on. _Keep moving. To hesitate is to die._

As the sun rises, Cas swears he begins to hear voices rise with it. At first, they’re distant- humans speaking nearby, Cas assumes- but as he continues along the road, they rise in volume and soon Cas can hear panicked yelling; voices clambering over one another broken intermittently by shrieks of pain, screams of terror and confusion. Castiel recognizes the agonized shouts of his siblings, but he can’t distinguish any one voice long enough to get a coherent message. He picks up his pace, and looks heavenward, eyes straining to catch a glimpse of something, anything. His ears began to ring as the intensity and number of panicked voices continued to grow; the lightheaded dizziness he felt earlier overtook him again and the force of it made him stumble as the ringing in his head escalated.

The shouting was broken abruptly by the blaring of a car horn, and only just Castiel looked up in time to dive out of the path of the massive black car that appeared from around the corner. He hit the ground hard, his shoulder taking the impact as the force of his fall forced him to tumble a few times before he settled in the dust.

Cas heard tires screech to a stop, but was unable to move from where he landed for a moment- he couldn’t breathe. The force of the fall had knocked the air from his lungs, and as he struggled to wheeze more oxygen into his body, pain caught up to him all at once and nearly knocked the air from him again. His shoulder and back throbbed where he had hit the pavement, his shins, elbows, and palms burned and ached from his tumble as he slowly pushed himself up.

“Holy shit!” Castiel heard a woman’s voice call followed by the slamming of a car door. “Hey buddy, you okay?”

Castiel squinted up at the approaching human as she stepped away from her vehicle. She was young, that much Cas could see; her face was pale and freckled, she was dressed in black denim jeans, black leather jacket and combat boots. Both sides of her head were shaved, and the long black hair she had was braided back, leaving the concern on her face plain for Castiel to see. He winced as he looked down at his bloody palms, then back at her young face. “It hurts.” he replied, still vaguely amazed at the aching sensation.

The girl sighed in sympathy, stopping a short distance away, “Yeah I bet- you look like you've been to hell and back.” she said lightly, indicating his bloody palms.

"Yeah, a few times." Castiel replied seriously. He looked carefully at his hands-  the skin was raw and bleeding, scraped away in certain places, but he's had worse all things considered.

“Need help up?” the woman offered with an extended hand.

“Thank you,” Cas says, accepting her assistance as she grabbed his arm and helped lift him to his feet, careful to avoid his palms. She was tall for a woman, an inch or so taller than him.

“The hell you doing in the middle of the road like that?” she questioned as Cas steadied himself and continued to look around at the surrounding trees and sky, his eyes searching.

“I heard angels.” Cas replies, turning his gaze back to her. Up close, he saw her jacket was colorfully decorated, images and words pressed onto the leather. Observing her, Cas decided she couldn't have been on the earth for more than two decades, at least.

Her eyebrows twitched and her green hazel eyes narrowed. “Angels.” she said, more of a question, less of a statement.

“Yes.” Cas replies in all seriousness, “I heard them just now- it was almost deafening, but now...” Cas trailed off and gazed into the trees, “Now it’s quiet.”

“Uh-Huh.” the girl says, her eyes still narrowed; looking him up and down, assessing the crumpled trench coat, backwards tie and worn shoes. After a moment she sighed and said “How about we get you some water hmm?”

“I, uh, don’t drink water.” Cas said vaguely turning away from the sky to face her.

“Right...” she says long and drawn out, “Dehydration is a real bitch up here, Mister.” she says more seriously.

“A phone.” Cas says suddenly, he steps forward, “Do you have a phone?”

The girl steps back as he steps forward, her hand twitching briefly to her belt; Cas doubts she’s unarmed. Her eyes were no longer narrowed, but no less focused as she searched his face; Cas supposed his honesty and urgency must show in his features because she assesses him once more before dropping her hand back to her side and saying, “No signal up here.” Castiel’s disappointment must also be visible because her face softened just a bit and she said, “How about a lift, hmm?”

Cas sighed with relief, “That would be much appreciated. I would fly, but I... I have no wings, not anymore.” He said sadly, the truth of the statement weighing on him for a moment.

“Okay.” The girl says, a little loudly, her eyes wide now. “How ‘bout we get you that water now huh? Clean those palms?”

“Yes, good.” Cas says, his voice smaller than he expected. “It still hurts.” he explained.

“My first aid kit is in the trailer,” she replied, gesturing to the metal cylinder hooked up to her car, “But I’m warning you now, I don't take any shit from strange men, so if you try anything you’ll be fucking sorry, we clear?”

Castiel blinked, cradling his bloody palms as he tilted his head at her, "Am I strange?" he wondered aloud.

She doesn't answer, just repeats "We clear?"

Castiel nods seriously, meeting her gaze. “We’re clear.” he echoes.

He follows her up to the door of her trailer, feeling the ache in his limbs as he walked. She unlocked the metal door and stepped aside to let him pass. Castiel entered and found himself in what appeared to be a tiny house. The cylindrical room had everything necessary for human functionality like the Winchester’s motel rooms, but was spattered with a small collection of personal items the brothers never had the time to accumulate. It was not unclean, but slightly cluttered and smelled vaguely of sage. There were plants growing in the corners by the light, books were visible on almost every surface, jars filled with various herbs and spices were secured in a spice rack bolted to the wall, while other herbs dangled from the ceiling to dry and crystals lay on the shelves. “Wow," Cas said, taking it all in, "it's beautiful."

She chuckles, "If you say so."

"It’s like a house,” Castiel says aloud peering closer at the microwave “but mobile?”

“You... mean the trailer?” She asked slowly, pausing as she opening a cupboard door under the small sink and rummaging around.. “You’ve never been in a trailer before?”

“No.” Said Cas simply, still looking around, oblivious to her incredulous looks. _Humans are fascinating, and incredibly innovative._ Cas thought to himself as he took in the finer details of the tiny home. Cas wasn’t oblivious, or stupid. the signs of her craft would be subtle to others perhaps, but Castiel knew what witchcraft looked like. Yet, all aspects of her craft appeared harmless, and upon closer inspection, he recognized the various sigils delicately hand painted just over the inside of the door and windows, and a feeling of relief overcame him at the sight. He turned to face the young girl, who was now pulling bandages out of her first aid pack, “You’re a hunter?” he asked bluntly, slightly surprised.

She freezes, shoulders tense as she put the bandages down and looks him straight in the eye, unwavering. “Yeah sometimes,” she said quietly, “Deer and rabbits, stuff like that.” A test.

He meets her gaze, just as unwavering, “I was thinking more like ghosts, monsters, demons, stuff like that.”

Her jaw tightens. Test passed. “You know about hunting?”

“Yes,” Cas answered, “friends of mine, they have the same protective sigils over their doors.” He looked down at the welcome mat at the threshold of the door and pushed a corner aside with his foot. “They also have Devils Traps at every doorway.” he lets the mat fall back over the sigil, covering it once again.

She squints at him again, her lips pursed before asking, “What’s your name?”

“Castiel.”

She scoffs, “What kind of name is that?”

“A biblical one.” Cas replies honestly. He cradled his still bleeding hands closer to his chest and hoped he hadn't made this hunter too uneasy. Hunters, Cas knew, were weary at the best of times, and hunter or no, a young girl like this was sure to be cautious; and as much as he disliked the thought, he still desperately needed her help.

She picked up the bandages as she considered him thoughtfully. “Well...” she says finally. “You’re human, at least- have to be to pass through that door.” she gestures for him to sit at the table, so he does, sliding into the booth. “I’m Harley, by the way.” she tells him after a moment as she sets the medical supplies on the table. “Are you a hunter? You don't exactly look like the knife-fight type, I gotta say.”

“No- not really. Friends of mine, they're hunters; they were raised in it.” He hisses in surprise as she dabbed at his palms with a damp cloth, “It stings!”

“Yeah that’s the antiseptic,” Harley says, “means it’s working.” he winced against the sting in his palms as she gently continued to wipe the blood and dirt from his hands, and Cas had to admit, when they were clean and bandaged, they did feel much better.

She handed him a water bottle, despite what he’d said earlier, saying simply, “It should help.”

“Thank you.” he said sincerely as she packed away her medical kit.

Harley smiled at him. “It’s the least I could do after almost running you over. I wish I could do more, but I’m not the best at healing spells.”

“How long have you been a witch?” Cas asks her as they exit her trailer and climb into her car. Cas doesn’t know much about cars, all he can think, is that this one looks capable. It was taller than the Impala, but the same shade of black and much boxier.

“Eh,” Harley shrugged as she climbed into the driver’s seat. “I dunno, a few years now I guess. Kinda comes right along with the Hunting. Needed a spell for a case, and hex bag for another, so eventually I figured I might as well- almost all Hunters need to perform some type of witchcraft at one point or another anyway, I’ve just made it a point to be proficient at it.” She starts the car, and it comes alive with a rumble. “So, where to?”

Hmm, Cas hadn't thought about that, where would he go? “Where are we?” Cas suddenly wonders.

“Uh,” Harley said raising her eyebrows skeptically, “Longmont?” she said in the same slow tone of voice from before.

“Where’s that?,” Cas frowned, brow furrowed in confusion. “Specifically where in America?”

Her jaw dropped, _“Colorado!”_ She said a little too loudly, looking over at him with eyes that clearly questioned his sanity, “Are you telling me you don’t even know which _state_ you’re in?”

Cas shifted under her dubious gaze, “I just woke up in the forest,” he told her honestly, “and I walked until I found a road.”

Harley took a deep breath through her nose as she contemplated him, her head tilted, arms resting on the steering wheel. “You woke up in the woods, and found a road.” she repeats, her tone dry.

“Yes.” Cas says, somewhat exasperated.

“And where were you before you woke up in the woods?” she questions, her face guarded.

Castiel can tell his responses only seem to confuse her, likely make her more suspicious, and despite his general naivete of the depth and complexity to human emotion her can tell she doesn’t believe him. But he doesn’t have anything but the truth to tell, and he’d always been relatively bad at lying anyway. “I was in Randolph, New York; and then I was in heaven, and now I’m here.”

“Heaven.” She repeats shortly and dubiously. “New York to Heaven. Okay, sure, why not.” Harley snorted through her nose as she dismissed his answer and began to drive. “Look, how ‘bout we drive to the nearest gas station and gear up on some food and grub. What’d ya say, sound like a plan?”

“Yes,” Cas says as he settles into his seat, “a plan.”

 

*****

 

A grief counselor. They sent him a _fucking_ grief counselor. Dean knows it’s procedure, but he can’t help taking it personally. Who is _she_ to talk about what’s inevitable? “Look, I’m sure you’re a nice person and that you mean well, but “inevitable”- that’s a fighting word where I come from. There’s always a way.”

Kim smiles at him gently, “And I’m a prayerful woman who believes in miracles as much as the next,” she says, and Dean has to smother his scoff, “But I also know how to read an E.E.G. and unless you’re telling me you have a direct line to those angels that you were looking for-”

“Yeah,” Dean cuts her off, her words unintentionally striking a nerve, “No, I, uh... guess I don’t.” Staring at her pity filled gaze, he’s suddenly struck with a revelation; he can’t believe it took him this long, “But I might have something better.” he says, something close to hope rising in his chest as he chuckles, “I’ve got the King of Hell in my trunk.”

He can hear Kim Schortz’s bewildered voice follow him out the door, “Uh, is- is that... I’m sorry,” she calls after him, “is that a metaphor?”

 _Oh you wish lady,_ Dean thinks to himself as he walks through the hospital’s parking structure. He reached his beloved Impala and rapped his knuckles on top of the hood. “Crowley, listen up you son of a bitch. One for yes, two for no. You alive?” When resentful silence is all he gets in reply he says, “Come on, don’t be a pouter.” a reluctant _thud_ answers him this time from within the trunk and Dean smirks, “There we go.”

As he reaches in his pocket for his keys to unlock the trunk, he glances up, and what he sees makes him pause. A man in a blue suit is striding through the cars, his posture rigid, his face expressionless and his gaze fixed pointedly on Dean’s face, never breaking eye contact. Dean felt the brittle cackle of static with every one of the man’s footsteps as he approached and tensed; his instinct screaming that this was something more than a man.

He stopped a few feet from where Dean stood over the Impala’s trunk. His face remained wooden as he considered Dean with impassive eyes. “You prayed?” he said, it sounded more like a threat and less like a question; and as he spoke, blue light began to glow in the depths of his eyes, sparks of electricity jumped erratically above his head as the lights above them began to flicker.

Dean felt a shiver run down his spine despite himself; he could sense the static in the air, could feel it in his hair and the ends of his fingertips. Standing this close to the angel felt like standing next to a live wire, “Yeah, for help.” he said a as stone settled in his gut at the realization that the only angel who answered his call clearly had no merciful intentions.

“Yes.” the angel said, as an angel blade dropped from his sleeve. “You’ll be helping me.” He stepped forward and twirled the blade in his hand; and as he did so the blade transformed. An intricate crossguard formed and the hilt extended, so long now it dragged on the cement as the angel stalked toward Dean, trailing sparks in its wake. Arcs of electricity flashed above the angel’s head and connected, forming a cackling halo of jagged electricity that convulsed and quivered in the air above him. Dean felt a certain type of fear he hadn't felt since Cas first strode into the barn all those years ago as the angel’s eyes glowed a blinding blue and wings- actual _fucking_ wings- materialized in front of him.

Dean’s breath froze in his throat at the sight of them. Perhaps once they had been glorious, but now- now they were mangled; they were bent at unnatural angles, bone protruding from one of them, patches of large blistering burns scattered between patches of disheveled and charred feathers. Grace oozed like blood from wounds and dripped from the mottled gray-brown feathers and onto the floor and the smell of burning plumage and flesh almost made Dean retch.

Dean made a move for the blade in his pocket- but before his fingers could close around the handle, the angel lunged. Dean managed to duck just as the blade of the sword whistled through the air where his head had been only moments previously- before he could gain his footing, the angel kicked out ruthlessly. The blow landed on the side of his ribs like an iron punch and Dean went soaring through the air- crashing into the side of a gray minivan with enough force to shatter the glass and force the air from his lungs.

Dean’s head was spinning, his lungs were burning, and the car alarm blaring in his ears was nearly deafening. He pushed himself to his hands and knees as the angel advanced; before Dean could get to his feet, the angel took Dean’s head in his palm and slammed it against the side of the van.

Dean crumpled to the ground with a groan, his ears ringing and head pounding. The angel leaned over him and seized him by the throat. His iron grip was like a vice around his neck as Dean struggled to breathe. “If you lie to me, Dean Winchester,” the angel said, dragging him to his feet by his neck, “I will rip your throat out.” he lifted Dean above his head effortlessly; Dean’s feet scrambling in empty air, the pressure on his windpipe agonizing. “Where is Castiel?”

“Who’s asking?” Dean managed to wheeze through the hold on his throat.

The angel dragged Dean’s face closer to his own, the blue glow of his grace burning into Dean’s eyes, “Try every angel who was ejected from their home.” he snarled his halo crackling.

“Oh.” Dean gasps, “Oh, well, in that case, _fuck you.”_

Dean didn’t even have time to think before the angel lifted him by this throat and threw Dean over his head, slamming him down on another car hood. Dean groaned as he rolled off the hood and tried to scramble to his feet, but the angel’s polished shoe caught him in the ribs. “You pathetic maggots.” the angel sighed as Dean spit blood from his mouth and struggled to his feet. “Your frailty never ceases to repulse me; so defiant in the face of something so inevitable.” the angel tilted his head, smirking as Dean struggled to catch his breath. “You will tell me where Castiel is,” he threatened, an echo to his voice, “and then the two of you will pay for everything you’ve done.”

Dean wiped blood from his chin. “Or you can take your halo and shove it up your ass!” he spat as he took a swing at the angel’s face.

It was just like the first time he’d punched Cas all those years ago, like punching concrete, except this angel’s head didn’t even turn at the force of the punch. Agony blossomed in his knuckles and radiated up his arm to reverberate in his elbow. Dean couldn’t help the look on his face, or his robust and outraged curse of “Mother- _fucker!”_

The angel knocked Dean’s legs out from under him with a sudden swing of his broken wings. Dean’s back hit the ground- the air gone from his lungs again. With the blade at his neck, he stared up at the angel’s furious glowing eyes, framed by the quivering light of his halo and the arc of his shattered wings, and considered that this time- he might be truly, inescapably boned.

Suddenly there was a flash and clang of metal, and the blade was gone from Dean’s throat. “Easy there, brother.” said another voice from above Dean. The newcomer stood between Dean and the angel, a blade drawn in his hands, but lowered. “This young man has prayed for our assistance. Are we creatures of wrath or compassion?” his voice was steady, calm, precise, “I would argue the latter.”

“Forgive me, brother.” the first angel said, appraising the newcomer in his burgundy shirt, black hoodie, and grey denim jeans, “I do not recognize you.”

“Happy to make your re-acquaintance.” said the newcomer, “After you disarm.”

The first angel seemed to consider for a moment before suddenly swinging his sword through the air. The other angel leapt back to avoid the blade, but the tip grazed his collarbone; blood the color of grace oozed from the shallow gash and the wounded angel pressed his fingers to it gently. His blade spun in his hand and morphed into gladius sword, “Come now.” the wounded angel chastised, something close to fury in his grey eyes as he stared down the other angel. “Is that any way to treat a brother injured in the fall?” he taunted as his halo sparked into existence, battered gray wings unfurled from his shoulders and his eyes glowed with grace.

In the blink of an eye the battle was on. The angels lunged forward, swords clashed, car alarms blared. The first angel thrust forward, but the newcomer dodged it and twisted the other angel’s arm backward with a sicking _crack_ ; he landed a few punches to his opponent's face before his rival landed a blow to the newcomer’s chest that sent him hurtling into the side of a car with enough force to send vehicles flying in all directions. “Oh, fuck!” Dean yelled as scrambled to his feet; the suited angel advanced on his adversary who lay in a crumpled heap, embedded in the metal folds of the car.

Dean picked up the gladius sword as car alarms wailed and echoed around them and the angel continued to advance, his fractured wings dragging behind him. The other angel untangled himself from the metal of the car with a groan as attacker stood over him. The suited angel stepped down on his rival’s already shattered wing with a immaculately polished black shoe and the wounded angel shrieked- his true voice bleeding out into the scream- simultaneously shattering the car windows and almost forcing Dean to his knees. Dean pushed past the ringing in his ears and ran forward, plunging the sword through the angel’s back and driving the blade through his heart.

The angel released a gurgling scream, and Dean was forced to shut his eyes as a blinding white light formed in front of him. The angel’s grace burned around him, and when Dean opened his eyes, the corpse was lying at his feet, the shadow of the angel’s wings now smoldering on the cement.

Dean picked up both discarded weapons and looked at the angel still crumpled in front of him who was considering him with weary and exhausted eyes. “Who are you?” he demanded of the angel.

“Never mind me.” the angel panted, blood dribbled out of the corner of his mouth and his wings twitched from their crumpled position, “You’re Dean Winchester. I heard your prayer, and I am here to help.” his voice held conviction, but the glow in his eyes dimmed and he swayed; his halo flickered, the trembling circle splintering erratically before trailing off into sparks as his eyes rolled backward in his head and he slumped over with a thud, his wings shimmering back into non-existence.

Dean nodded and pursed his lips as he looked around the absolutely wrecked parking lot and took in the Impala’s shattered windows. _“Okay.”_ he muttered to himself.

 

*****

 

Harley glanced at the man in her passenger seat; Castiel, he’d called himself. He’d fallen silent when she’d started up the Jeep and continued down the road, and had sat leaning against the door, his forehead pressed against the glass as he watched the landscape fly by. She thinks of nearly accidentally running him over; a dehydrated, stranded, religious businessman who by now most likely had a concussion. They way he kept looking about, head towards the sky, gaze searching the trees- even when speaking to her- made him look lost. Harley had met a few people who’d had brushes with the kind of things she hunted and had chalked it up as a religious experience, but the dry, matter-of-fact way he spoke gave her pause. Harley didn't sense anything malicious in his manner- just... slightly off.

Now, as they pull up to the gas station, Castiel unfolds himself from his position against the door and they both step down from the Jeep and out into the air, still damp with lightly falling rain. As Castiel straightens up and begins to stride to the phone booth, sympathy gets the best of her and she calls him back over, “Hey.”

He turns back to her as Harley sifts through her wallet for a five and some quarters. Castiel shakes his head when she offers it, and says, “No, I can’t take your money.”

She gives him a small smile, “For the phone. And a sandwich from inside.”

“It’s okay. I don’t eat.” he replies quickly, and with all seriousness.

Harley can’t suppress rolling her eyes with a sigh. This fucking guy. “Oh for the love of- just fucking take it yeah?” she says, practically shoving the money into his bandaged hands. She turns to the gas pump, leaving him to contemplate the money in his hands, and sticks her card into the machine.

She can still see him from the corner of her eye as he strides to a phone booth a short distance away. She’s glancing down, connecting the pump to her Jeep when she hears him address the old, grizzled biker currently using the booth, “Hang up the phone.” Castiel’s tone is commanding and blunt.

 _Oh Jesus,_ she thinks as the biker turns to look at Castiel, an expression of crude disbelief on his face at having been interrupted by a puny man wearing a business suit. “Excuse me?” he says, the shock in his voice laced with a hard edge.

“This is an emergency.” Castiel says in the same commanding, dry, gravelly, matter-of-fact tone. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

 _What the fuck?!_ Harley cursed to herself, scrambling to put the pump away as the biker eyes him, a smug look on his face. “Hold on, Hon.” he says to the phone, turning to face Castiel fully. “Sure you do.” He says menacingly, leaning forward, “Hurt me.” he dares sarcastically.

To Harley’s shock and utter dread, Castiel just frowns and says solemnly, “I’m sorry.” before reaching out and placing two fingers to the biker’s forehead. Instead of backing off and apologizing- like a fucking _normal person_ \- Castiel’s frown simply deepened as he contemplated his hand; and then Harley’s shock turned quickly into alarm as Castiel reached forward again placing his entire palm on the man’s forehead.

“Oh- _okay!”_ She said loudly, striding over to them quickly and laughing anxiously as she grabbed Castiel’s arm by the elbow, “That’s enough of that.” She laughed nervously, dragging him a short distance away from the angry biker.

The biker glared at her briefly before fixing his stare on Castiel. “I’m gonna finish this call.” he said, irritation blatant in his voice, “Then I’m gonna stab you.”

Harley laughed forcefully and a little too loudly. “Well! That’s just- okay then.” she tugged Castiel further away as the biker continued to eye them with suspicion. “You just, uh- have a nice day and all that!” she called behind her as she dragged them into the small diner inside. “Dude, what the fuck was that?” she questioned Castiel angrily as she sat them down at a booth.

“I don’t know.” he muttered as he considered the salt shaker, the same lost and slightly exasperated look from before present again on his face, “it’s always worked before.”

“Has it?” Harley drawled dubiously, she was beginning to reconsider his ability to be left alone, “Look, Castiel-”

“Cas.” he interrupts, still inspecting the salt, “My friends call me Cas.”

“Alright, Cas- look if you go around talking to people like that you’re going to get yourself in trouble.” she sighed when this garnered no reaction and elaborated, “People sometimes don’t know how to react.”

“React to what?” Cas asks, head tilted.

“People who are different.” Harley replied with a shrug.

“I am different.” Cas says.

Before she could formulate a reply the waitress arrived, “I’ll have a burger and a side of fries with a cup of coffee.” Harley ordered with a smile.

“And for you?” the waitress questions, turning to Cas.

“Oh, I don’t-”

“He’ll have the same-” Harley cuts across him with a sigh, “thank you very much. You need to eat something.” she says to Castiel when the waitress leaves. “I swear I’ve heard your stomach rumble.”

“Is that why it hurts?” Castiel questioned vaguely.

Harley sighed through her nose and did not reply. She watched as he tore into his food with the finesse of a dying man once it arrived; for a man who claimed he didn’t need to eat, he practically devoured the burger, cheeks bulging as he chewed, Harley felt compelled to say, “Slow down dude, you’ll make yourself sick eating that fast.”

Castiel only slowed down enough to mutter, “Apologies,” his mouth still full, before he went back to demolishing his meal. "Thank you." he says after he finished his fries, "I was so hungry." Castiel said as if he were surprised. "Very kind of you to share."

"It's okay." she says simply.

"You know," Castiel speculated, "I'm finding that often, people with the least to give, are often the most generous."

Harley gave him a small smile, "It's because we know what it's like to have nothing, and how much it means to others when you give them something."

It’s quiet for a few moments and they eat in relative silence while Harley considers her dining companion. What kind of a man doesn’t know hunger? The oddness of this man confounded her, she was beginning to suspect there was more to this man than just a stranded pedestrian. As he finished his burger and Harley tried to think of how to ask her questions, a girl approached the table. Dressed in a yellow cardigan, blue dress, and denim jeans her long brown hair framed her pale face elegantly, but her pale blue eyes were wide and steely- and they fixed on Castiel unwaveringly, making her otherwise lovely face foreboding.

Harley stared at her as she approached the table- her posture rigid and her arms stiff at her sides. The girl ignored her completely as she came to a stop, standing over Castiel closer than most people would have. “I know you.” she said, pale blue eyes never leaving his face.

Castiel glanced up, noticing her for the first time. “I don’t think so.” he said dismissively, turning back to his coffee.

“Castiel.” she said without breaking her gaze. “We met on the battlefields of heaven.” she tightened her stance, squaring her shoulders and lifting her jaw, “My name is Hael.”

Cas turned to look at her, warmth and endearment coloring his features, “You’re an angel.”

Hael continued to stare at him, her pale blue eyes deep and tortured. “Am I?” she asked, voice breaking, “What’s an angel without its wings?”

Harley’s mouth fell open as Hael sat down at the table- still completely ignoring her- and she tried to wrap her mind around the conversation unfolding in front of her. Angels... there was another person wandering around talking about angels- who claimed to actually _be_ one. Harley supposed some local cult got stirred up by the freak meteor shower the previous night, but something still didn’t sit right in her chest as she watched the two of them talk. Castiel hadn’t recognized her, yet now he spoke to her easily, familiarly. The way they looked at each other when they spoke- open, eager, and sincere astounded Harley; yet something about their mannerisms remained rigid, their faces oddly devoid of emotion.

“It was a normal day,” Hael was saying, “and then just... dark.” she inhaled shakily, emotion present in her voice, but not her face. “And then I was just... falling- _burning.”_ her voice cracked, “How could that happen?” she asked, pain in her voice, blue eyes imploring.

Castiel swallowed, “I don’t know.” he said, sadness suddenly heavy in his voice and around his eyes.

Hael scrutinized him, her head tilted “Your Grace- it’s... gone?” she said astounded.

Cas looked at her, his expression pained and eyes sorrowful, “Yes.” he said mournfully “I do still hear angel radio, though.” the corners of his mouth twitched in an unconvincing smile.

“Then you’ve heard them-” she sat up and leaned forward, a new kind of desperation entering her voice. “Our brothers and sisters- many still circling for vessels, most just... so afraid.”

Harley could hardly believe what she was hearing; talk of angels- so casually and sincerely discussed- had her unsure of what to think. Sure, humans were odd; they were gullible, religious, superstitious, and often could be lead to believe- well... almost anything; but, she was a hunter, and had heard of many people being taken in by some supernatural entity claiming to be divine. These people were involved in _something_ whether they knew it or not. She blinked and focused back on the conversation in front of her.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of; I can assure you.” Castiel was saying, kindness on his face and reassurance in his voice.

It does not seem to reassure Hael, “But heaven- there was order. There was... purpose.” she said with yearning.

“Well...” Castiel says, his face pensive yet hopeful, “believe it or not, there may be something even better down here.”

“I don’t understand.” Hael said blankly.

Castiel hesitated as he took a moment to answer. He fiddled with his hands before saying, “Opportunity for you, the others who have fallen to _finally_... do what you would like to do- not just what you’ve been told.”

“And what would I... _like_ to do?” Hael questioned, still not comprehending.

“Oh, you tell me.” Castiel said, his face lighting up, and a small genuine smile on his lips, “If you could do anything, what would it be?”

Harley watched as Hael’s brow furrowed in concentration as she considered the ultimately simple question. After a moment of silence that began to stretch to the uncomfortable, the girl suddenly blurted, “There’s a place.” her eyes were still far off- distant, “I built it when I was last here- many years ago.” A small, fond smile decorated her dainty lips, “A grand canyon.”

“Y-You...” Harley stuttered over her coffee, “You _built_ the Grand Canyon?” she interjected weakly.

“The Grand Canyon, yes.” Hael said slowly, “I- I would like to see that.” she said eagerly, excitement the first visible emotion on her face.

Castiel’s eyes catch Harley’s, the question in them obvious. She sighed as she looked at the two of them. Cas’s eyes were hopeful, pleading; Hael was actually looking at her now, her pale blue orbs still eager- and Harley’s curiosity got the better of her. She smiled at the odd pair; “Let’s go see the grand canyon then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm basically in love with Brianna Hildebrand's look and acting, and think she'd fit right in playing a hunter on the show, so I wrote the character I wish she could've played. **¯\\_(ツ)_/¯**
> 
> If anyone's interested: Cat Stevens' song _Miles From Nowhere_ was lose inspiration for Cas's scenes. 
> 
> Sorry this first chapter is so similar to the show, but it wouldn't make sense if I didn't set it up, but the next chapter will diverge from canon plot in a few specific ways, so it was important. I tried to edit it as best as I could, but there may be a few mistakes- thanks for bearing with me.


	2. Where We Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Devastated by Sam's collapse, Dean makes a pact with Ezekiel while he dodges the angels bearing down on them and Sam fights to live. Meanwhile, Castiel journeys to the Grand Canyon with his newfound companions and hopes he can manage to build peace between angels and humans while he struggles to learn to survive without powers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Need to know:** -The call between Dean and Cas in the hospital didn't happen.  
>  -I don't focus on Sam's experience because I felt it was well written, and there really wasn't anything I wanted to add to it, so I'm keeping the canon of what he imagines while dying in the show.  
> -I chose to switch the Tractor angel with one in a hospital gown just 'cause.
> 
> **Also:** -If you haven't seen the Grand Canyon, I'd recommenced googling images of Hopi and Mohave point- the visuals are amazing, and you'll get a better idea of what Cas is gazing at.  
>  \- Apocalyptica's album: _Plays Metallica By Four Cellos_ is great background music for fight scenes, I'd highly recommend it.

Harley informed them they were only thirteen hours away from the Grand Canyon as they gassed up and hit the road, so Castiel settled into the passenger's seat for the long ride ahead while Hael sat in the back middle seat; her posture still stiff, shoulders tense, and eyes staring forward. The first hour passed in relative silence, broken only by Harley, who hummed along to the music pouring out of the car stereo as she drove, _“‘_ _There's a road that takes me home,’”_ she sung quietly along with the woman on the radio, _“‘take me fast or take me slow- throw my head out the window- feel the wind- make me whole, write my name up in the sky, as we contemplate goodbye, I don't know... we don't know... where we go.’”_

Castiel listened to her sing, something almost wistful twisting in his gut; he can’t go home, maybe he never would again. He’d been unable to contact the Winchesters- the number he had memorized had since been discontinued; he knew they had multiple phones, and often changed numbers. Cas had gotten used to being able to simply fly to them in moments, and hadn’t bothered to seriously consider human methods of communication- but now he cursed his naivety in hindsight. He hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye to Dean, and now Cas may never get the chance to say anything to him again.

Even though Castiel was not unaccompanied, the thought made him feel distinctly alone, and he was glad to have some semblance of a plan- even if it was just driving to the Grand Canyon. He had never been himself, and if this worked- if angels could find some form of life here, some kind of purpose, then maybe... just _maybe_ \- Castiel hadn’t completely failed them.

From the corner of his eye, Cas could see Harley glance repeatedly up at the rear-view mirror, evaluating the silent girl in her backseat. Her posture may have seemed casual, leaning back, one elbow out the window and one clutching the steering wheel, but Harley’s pursed lips and the tightness around her eyes betrayed her weariness as she continued to glance at the the angel in her mirror.

Cas knew her generosity was not entirely born out of kindness, that it was partially spurred by suspicion. He could only hope the kindness won out, Castiel feared that in trying to help the angels, he would fail the humans; he knows it’s a possibility he cannot permit. This simple road trip could end up being absolutely critical. If this goes well, it could mean the beginning of a partnership between angels and humans- it could mean peace was a possibility.

When they passed through their first town, Hael sat up and looked closely out the window at passing houses, “ _This_ is civilization?” she scoffed.

Harley snorted from the front seat, “What you you expecting princess, a palace?”

Hael frowned and turned back out the window. “Humans used to put so much thought into their architecture, especially the 1400s.” she said wistfully, “ _These_ are just- cardboard boxes,” she sounded disgusted, “surrounded by garbage. Soon, all they will be is dust.”

“People just need roofs over their heads sometimes, we can’t all live in the Vatican.” Harley quipped back at her.

Hael doesn’t say anything, just furrowed her brow slightly and went back to studying the passing buildings with a frown. Castiel knows she feels lost, he understands how jarring Earth can be at first- humans are startling and often contradictory in nature. Their world doesn’t always make sense- it’s something he’d come to appreciate about humanity- and he hopes Hael will come in time to respect it as well. Cas is aware the desire to help Hael is comes from his need abate the guilt that eats at him. He is responsible for her misery, so he endeavors to make it his responsibility to fix it.

Harley goes back to singing along with the man radio, a slower song this time. “‘ _Tell me what I'm supposed to do, with all these left over feelings of you..._ _’”_ she sang _“‘_ _‘cause I don't know... and tell me how I'm supposed to feel, when all these nightmares become real... ‘cause I don't know..._ _”_

The gentle motion of the car and the steady melody of the music suddenly made his limbs feel heavy, and he blinked slowly against the sudden weariness that had settled over him; he tried to keep his eyes from sliding shut... but slowly the hum of the car and melody of Harley’s voice faded to the background, and Castiel fell asleep for the first time in years.

 

*****

 

Dean dragged the limp angel down the hallway as hospital workers and bystanders began to flood the wrecked parking structure. If he had time, he’d be _seriously_ pissed at the state of his Baby’s windows, but now, he has to focus on slipping by everyone undetected; he acted like another panicked bystander dragging his friend to safety and was able to slip away amid the chaos. Dean finds a relatively large storage closest to slip into and he dumped the angel unceremoniously in the middle of the floor. Then he set to work locking the doors and disabling the smoke alarm. He pulled a flask from his jacket containing holy oil, and dribbled a circle around the unconscious angel before flicking his lighter and igniting the flames. Only then does Dean lean back against the shelves to breathe deep, allowing himself a moment’s rest while he waited.

Dean placed a hand on his ribs with a groan; thankfully, they only felt bruised and not broken. His throat was tender and it hurt to swallow, Dean knows bruises will be quick to appear. _Jesus fuck_ \- he had been tossed around by angels plenty of times, and they’d always been a force to be reckoned with- but this was something different. He’d never seen an angel look that... righteously wrathful... that  _angelic._ He almost swears he can still smell burnt flesh and feathers and he repressed a shiver at the recollection of the shattered wings.

His train of thought was interrupted by a low moan of discomfort and Dean paced as the angel began to stir. The angel groaned as he opened his eyes and rolled over, “You want to help?” Dean said, speaking calmly, but with authority, “Start with a name."

The angel pushed himself into a crouch slowly, still clearly in pain, taking in the flickering flames and Dean’s crossed arms. “Ezekiel.”

“Alright, Ezekiel.” Dean said, deciding to cut to the chase, “How do I know you’re not hunting me or Castiel like the other angels?”

“Oh, I’m sure there are many angels who are.”  Ezekiel says. He looked like a normal, battered human now; the glow of his eyes and sparks of his halo absent, his wings still hidden from view. “Many more on their way here most likely.”

Dean’s chest tightened. “How do you know that?”

Ezekiel raised his eyebrows and tilted his head slightly. Dean tried hard not to be reminded of Cas. “You put out an open prayer like that--” Ezekiel's voice trailed off.

“I must really be desperate.” Dean finished for him.

Dean held the angel’s gaze as they contemplated each other for a moment; Ezekiel’s head still tilted, the seriousness of the situation heavy in both their minds. After a moment, something shifted in Ezekiel’s expression and he pushed himself to his feet with a quiet gasp of pain. He regarded Dean with sincerity as he said, “Believe it or not, some of us still do believe in our mission. And that means we believe in Castiel... and you.”

Dean’s chest heaved as he breathed heavily, speechless in light of the angel’s conviction. Belief in him had never done anyone any good, as far as he was concerned, but he pushed aside his cynical thoughts and pressed forward, “You said you were hurt during the fall?”

“I was. Entangling with my brother back there did me no favors.” Ezekiel’s cool grey eyes were soft when he said, “But what strength I have left, I offer to you.”

Dean is silent as Ezekiel’s offer hangs in the air. Could he do this? Lead astray yet another lost angel with misguided faith in him? It’s not as though he has any other choice; Sammy’s life depends on this- but he knows, he _knows_ this is going to come back to bite him in the ass. “It’s my brother.” Dean said finally, his throat thick, “He, uh... he’s been injured.” Dean swallowed the lump forming in his throat, “He’s dying.”

Ezekiel’s expression was almost soft as he regarded the pain in Dean’s face, “I’ll do what I can.”

 

 

*****

 

Castiel was a creature of divinity, a celestial being of light- and yet as he gazed out at the horizon in front of him, stared in reverence at Hael’s creation- he thinks he has never felt so incredibly insignificant and unremarkable in the best way. He, Hael, and Harley stood on the precipice of The Grand Canyon just before dawn, overlooking the Hopi Point. The Canyon’s grandeur took up the whole of the horizon, and even in the pale morning light, it is spectacular and all-encompassing; and then dawn breaks from behind the mountains and the sun slowly stains the Canyon gold, casting purple shadows on the mountains that stand out beautifully against the backdrop of the coloring sky.

“Holy fuck.” Harley whispered next to him.

Time seemed to stand still. Magnificent, breathtaking, monumental... Castiel can think of countless adjectives in every language man has ever known, and somehow, he doubts it will be enough. He never before knew that awe could be a physical sensation- because it is, he can _feel_ it; when he gazes at the expanse of the horizon, and the staggering depth of the canyon below, his head feels light and his palms tingle. The sight before him is the closest sight to resemble heaven, and the comparison makes his heart ache and his eyes swell. “It’s glorious...” Cas breathed finally “It’s- it’s...”

_“‘The wonders of the Grand Canyon cannot be adequately represented in symbols of speech, nor by speech itself.’”_ Harley read from a nearby plaque, _“‘The resources of the graphic art are taxed beyond their powers in attempting to portray its features. Language and illustration combined must fail.’”_ She hummed in agreement. “Well said, John Wesley Powell.” she took out a camera and stepped to the side, turning to the two angels, "Now smile and say, _"Whiskey!"_ "

Neither Hael or Cas smiled when the camera went off, if anything Cas's frown deepened in confusion. "Why would we say that?"

"Because it's supposed to get you to smile for the- oh never mind." Harley sighed, giving up on the explanation as she turned away from them to better photograph the ravine. 

Hael was silent as she stared out at the immensity of her creation; but when Castiel looked at her, he could see the pride in her eyes, the conviction, and a mix of something else he couldn't quite identify. “It’s different from how I remember it,” she says at last, “but no less beautiful.”

“You did amazing work.” Cas complemented her quietly. There were only a handful of people this early in the morning, but Castiel heard many of them murmur words of reverence and wonder in more than one language. “People come from all over the world to see what you created.” Castiel told her.

Hael smiles at him, “Thank you, Castiel.” her yellow cardigan catches the morning sun. They continued to admire the magnificence before them, as the sun slowly stained the mountains gold, the dark blue of night sky fading away. “You slept.” Hael said suddenly, breaking the silence, “Earlier, in the vehicle.”

Cas blinked, a little surprised “I did.” he admitted quietly; shame stirring in his stomach.

She turned to look at him, her pale blue eyes searching his own, “Then you’re... truly human.”

Cas let out an unsteady breath, “I am, yes.”

Hael turned back to the majesty laid bare before them. “This is all your fault isn’t it?” She asked, quiet and curt; storm clouds begin to form not far off in the distance, “Making the angels fall?”

Castiel’s heart beat faster in his chest, and his bandaged hands felt damp. “I- I was trying...” he sighs, “My intentions were to make sure we all remained in heaven... and instead-”

“Instead we all fell.” she answered for him in a terse voice.

 “The Scribe lied to me,” Castiel tried to justify, “I was trying to do what I believed was the right thing... but perhaps there is a larger purpose for us down here.”

"Like what?” Hael questioned, a hint of desperation hint her voice, “I don’t understand what you see here- how can you stand existing without orders? I’d be lost without you Castiel.”

“Don’t worry,” Cas smiled reassuringly at her. “We’re friends, I won’t allow you to be lost.”

“We can be more than just friends, Castiel.” she said turning to him again, her eyes beseeching his, “We can become one.”

Castiel gaped at her as the realization dawns, a shiver runs down his spine.“You- you want to possess me.”

“Together, I can protect you Castiel.” she said imploring.

“I don’t need your-” the words die in his throat as Cas realized their untruths. “I don’t want your protection.” he rectifies.  

“They will hunt you,” Hael said bluntly her voice turning cold, “they will seek revenge on the angel that did this- who destroyed heaven. They will seek a vengeance on you that will make God striking down Lucifer seem like child’s play.”

Castiel’s breath caught in his chest at her words, and he tried not to dwell on the upsetting thought of his brethren’s hatred. “Some of them, perhaps; but I know there are others who would take this opportunity- others who want a purpose. With the humans’ help-”

“The humans’ _help?”_ she echoed incredulously, “Angels don’t need help from _humans_ Castiel.” Hael gestured to the canyon before them, “Seeing this - _my_ Grand Canyon- it only confirms humans are unfit to guard such natural divinity. They do nothing but  _desecrate_ the natural wonders God gave them, all while they lay claim and profit from its beauty. All they do, is pollute and fornicate and kill. They’ve been lead astray, and it’s our responsibility to lead them back into the light.”

The smell of ozone was sharp in Castiel’s nostrils and the storm clouds gathered closer. Something began to sink in his stomach as he realizes he’s lost her. “That’s not true,” he said pleading, “you might be correct about some, but not of the whole. Consider it- we could work with the humans! We could have _peace_ -”

“ _Work_ with the humans?” Hael whispered vehemently “They’re destroying this planet Castiel! They’re destroying _themselves,_ and if we’re not careful they will destroy us too.”

“You’re wrong.” Castiel said resolute, “They are flawed yes- but at their core, they are _good -_ ”

“You are disillusioned Castiel.” Hael says with sad eyes, “Blinded by your faith in humanity. Let me help you. Your vessel is strong. Think of what we could accomplish together. You were right Castiel; with us as one- I think I could learn to like it here..

He does think about what could be accomplished should they join, but the thought is far from comforting; what she could do- with _this_ face, with _his_ knowledge- the thought fills him with dread. “No.” Castiel told her defiant.

As they stare at one another it began to rain, slow lazy drops falling gently around them. Hael’s jaw tightened, her devastated face framed by damping curls. “Very well.” she says sadly with steel in her eyes, “Then you leave me no other choice.” They both moved at the same time, but she was faster. Her arm shot out and grabbed his wrist as Castiel made a grab for his blade, twisting it back painfully. Cas cried out in pain as she dragged him away from the ledge and back towards the car. Hael’s bruising grip was impossible to shake, prying at her fingers was like prying up concrete; she dragged him along bodily, his human demeanor no match for her immovable angelic strength.

“Hey-!” Cas suddenly heard hear Harley’s sharp cry from behind him, “What the _fuck_ are you doing to him-?” she shouted as she approached. Hael stilled at her call, but as soon as she was within reach, Hael reached out with two fingers, and with a simple touch to the forehead, Harley’s knees buckled from under her as she fell unconscious.

“Don’t!” Castiel pleaded, as Hael reached for the girl with the indifference of an exterminator about to squash a pest under their heel, “Don’t hurt her, she hasn’t done anything.”

Hael considered Harley’s crumpled form with a tilted head. “Very well.” she said. Without relinquishing her grip on Castiel, she reached down and lifted Harley under her arm with ease as if the girl weighed nothing. Cas dug his heels in the earth as Hael dragged them to the car; Harley’s long limbs dangling slack in Hael’s grasp, her knuckles dragging limply along the ground, but his struggling was pointless. Hael shoved him bodily in the passenger's seat and tossed Harley’s unconscious body in the back. “She’s strong,” Hael told him, as she slid behind the wheel. “she’ll make a perfect vessel for one of our brethren.”

Cas looked at the girl’s slumped form, a tangle of limbs tossed carelessly on the car bench, and felt guilt twist in his stomach; it was his fault she’s in this mess, “I doubt she’ll consent.”

Hael started the car, “She will.” Hael said as she looked him in the eye. “Eventually.” The heavy drops of rain spattered loudly on the windshield as it began to pour.

Hael continued down Hermit Road as Cas tried desperately to figure a way out of his current situation. His life- and now the life of an innocent girl- demanded it. Castiel knew Hael's threat was aimed at him as well, that if he kept refusing, she would torture him into giving his consent. His thoughts swirled and he had to slow his breathing, he had never been so defenseless before. Even with his blade and wits, he was mortal- he had no hope against her strength and stamina. Even if he made a move for the blade still tucked in his coat, he likely wouldn’t beat her to it; Castiel needed an advantage- his eyes searched the car’s interior desperately.

Hael kept speaking as she drove, “I am sorry Castiel,” she said calmly, “I had hoped you would see what I saw- that you would see our potential together.” Hael seemed more relaxed now, a small smile resting on her lips, her pale blue eyes bright. “Just think of it... together, you and I could make _many_ more Grand Canyons- replace humanity’s poor excuse for cities with Canyons much grander than this one; in fact- I’ve already thought of a few new designs.” she said brightly.

That’s when Castiel noticed- as Hael kept talking, envisioning leveling the city of Chicago and creating a Canyon with waterfalls that would shame Niagara- he realized that even though Hael had accessed the knowledge to drive, she hadn’t buckled her seatbelt- and having been tossed in- neither his or Harley’s had been secured either.

While Hael goes on- now describing in detail the valleys she would like to replace Las Vegas with- he reached to the side, slowly, for his own buckle. She ignored the faint _click-_ Cas knows, that Hael knows she has the upper hand and is unconcerned about his chances of resistance; her underestimation may be his only shot. Castiel turned and reached for the backseat- going slow and making it appear like he’s checking on Harley’s welfare. Hael only spares him a glance, and Cas made a show of checking the girl’s pulse and sweeping the hair out of her face; as soon as Hael’s gaze is refocused on the road, he slowly scrambled for Harley’s seatbelt and managed to secure it around her waist with another _click_.

She was still slumped over, but it would have to do. Cas turned back around focusing back on the continuous drone of Hael's boasting and plans of destruction. “-So, you’ll tell me more about humans. We’ll drive until we find a congregation, and then together, we will begin bringing humanity to heel.” Castiel remained silent; waiting, watching, and trying to slow his beating heart and appear calm. They came along a bend in the road, approaching the Mohave viewpoint; meal guardrails separating the road from the viewing platform, and that’s when Castiel seizes his chance.

Castiel lunged and made a quick grab for the top of the steering wheel. His fingers closed around it, and he wrenched it toward himself with all his strength. Hael let out a small scream as they went careening sideways, tires squealing, into the guardrail with a devastating _crash-_ and the world around him went black.

 

*****

 

Ezekiel stood with a hand on Sam’s chest back in the hospital room while Dean paced. It hadn’t taken him long to douse the flames and accept Ezekiel’s offer of help; Dean didn’t have any other options, and the angel seemed sincere, and hadn’t seized the multiple opportunities he’d had to attack him. Dean crossed his arms with worry when Ezekiel just continued to stand there, frowning, with his hand on Sammy’s chest. “You still able to cure things after the fall?” he asked, a bubble of panic rising in his chest.

“Yes I should be, but...” the angel continued to frown, “he’s so weak.”

_Fuck._ Dean tried to keep the panic at bay and stay focused. Sam would be fine, they had angelic help now and everything would be fine. Denial was an old friend, and it was the only thing keeping him from screaming. His thoughts were broken by a low rumbling, one that he first felt in his stomach, then his bones, the familiar smell of wind and dust faint in the air, “Whoa- I think we’ve got more company.” Dean walked over to the window and looked out; he could see streaks of light flash and swirl erratically through the air above the open parking lot. “One of yours?” he asked, his mouth dry.

“Trying to secure a vessel.” Ezekiel’s answer is somber, “We need to move.”

“No, no-” Dean said with rising panic, rushing back to the bed, “if we move him- he _dies_.”

“If we stay, we could all die.” Ezekiel replied straightforward.

Dismay clutches at his throat as Dean desperately searched the room, ignoring the implications of the angel’s words. His gaze fell on the markers by the hospital board and he snatches one up. “As long as these are up, no angels are coming in. no one’s coming out.” he said as he desperately covered the perimeter of the room with protective sigils. “You gonna be okay with these?” he asks tossing the marker to the floor.

Ezekiel considers the sigils and made a noncommittal noise, “I’ll manage.”

A high pitched ringing began to gain volume, slowly and distantly at first, then right in Dean’s ears; he watched Ezekiel’s shoulders tighten as he tilted his head, listening. When he looked at Dean, his eyes were full of dread. “What is it?” Dean demanded.

“They’re here.” Ezekiel said, resigned.

“Okay.” Dean said commanding, kicking into gear, “Do not open this door for anybody but me.” he went to grab the handle, hesitated, then turned back to the angel, “Save him, you hear me?” he barked firmly, pointing at Sam.

He stepped out into the hallway, Doctors and nurses rushed past in both directions. The ringing began to build in pitch as he walked down the hallway; he hadn't even reached the end when he was forced to cover his ears. Glass began to crack and shatter, and the lights flickered erratically, the windows bursting as he rushed past them; he covered his face as he ran, people screaming indistinctly all around him. Dean reached the fire alarm at the end of the hallway and pulled- the blaring alarms now mingled with screams and the continuous shrill ringing- Dean added his voice to the din, roaring over the commotion, “Everybody out! Now! Get out! Come on! Come on!” He ushered a huddled group of bystanders around a corner and down another hallway and he looked around checking for stragglers before he rounded the corner himself- and stopped short with a quiet, “Whoa- _fuck_.”

There- standing at the end of the hallway- was the grief counselor Kim Schortz- but she was very clearly no longer human. The lights in the hall went out with a _pop-_ the only light now came from the glow of her halo and the blue of her eyes. Her wings unfurled from the air behind her- they were so large that the arches of them scraped the ceiling and the ends dragged on the floor, trailing blood and grace as she stalked down the hallway toward him.

Dean pulled his angel blade from his jacket and backed up as she advanced, but more lights pop from behind him, and he turned to see another angel- dressed in a hospital gown. His wings twitched brokenly behind him, and his drawn sword gleamed in the flickering light cast by his halo. Dean swallowed as the angels advanced from both ends of the hall, tightening his grip on his blade.

The angel in the hospital gown was closer, so Dean turned and rushed at him, going for his chest. The angel jumped to the side and dodged, but the tip of the blade managed to graze his wing. The angel screamed- the sound of it pounding on Dean’s eardrums as grace dripped like blood from the wound, dripping on the tiled floor like liquid silver. Kim closed the distance behind Dean and lunges for his’s right arm; with a shocking amount of strength, she yanked on Dean’s arm with enough force to spin him around and send the blade flying from his hand. Her hand shot out and grabbed Dean by the already tender throat with crushing force.

Kim smiled at him sweetly while he choked for air, wrestling uselessly against her hold. “You wished I were an angel earlier,” she cooed at him in a honeyed tone, “aren’t you relieved?” she smiles at Dean again, baring her teeth, before rearing back her arm and punching him so hard in the face that he sees stars. Kim strikes him again, square in the face; Dean can feel his nose break with a wet _crunch,_ warm blood dripping past his lips, the coppery taste of it sharp in his mouth.

He must blackout for a second, because the next thing Dean knows, the angel in the hospital gown is dragging him along the hospital floor by the collar of his jacket. The angel hauls him through broken glass and around a corner before dumping him roughly on the floor. “Let me make this easy, you insignificant insect-” Kim spoke from above him as Dean coughed wetly, “-tell me where Castiel is, or your brother’s going to wish he were dead.”

“Yeah,” Dean tried to laugh, but it come out more as a warbled croak, “good luck getting past the warding.” he says, spitting blood on the ground.

Kim smiles again, confident and ominous. “But we will.” she said simply. She nodded to the other angel, he thrust out his arm, shattering the nearby emergency case and pulling an ax free from the wall. Kim leaned down and grabbed Dean by the lapels of his jacket, lifting him off his feet. “And when we do,” she hissed in his face, “I’m going to strip off all his skin- and you’re going to watch.”

Dean eyed the ax in the other angel’s hand; he knew it wasn't an empty threat, his only option is to give Ezekiel a chance, and hope he can protect Sam. “Bite me you bitch.” he spat blood in her face with the force of his words. Kim snarled and pummeled him again, the blow landing just under his right eye- the force of the punch sent him sailing through the air. He landed hard on the tile, all the air knocked violently from his lungs.

Dean curled on the ground, momentarily unable to do anything but groan and try to inhale past the burning pressure in his lungs. He laughed- even though nothing was particularly funny; he forced himself to his knees, coughing and spitting blood out of the side of his mouth, “Anybody ever tell you- you hit like an cupid?” Dean wheezed, grinning bloodily at her. Kim wiped his blood off her face with a scowl and lashed out, kicking him square in the jaw.

Dean tried to get up, but his head spun and he fell back with a pained groan, his lip split and his teeth aching. Kim grabbed him by the throat and hauled him over to Sam’s door, depositing him slumped by the wall. Even though his back was turned towards the angels, Dean could hear the splinter of wood as the ax struck the door- he knows it won’t hold long. “Okay, wait, wait, wait, wait.” he panted, throwing out a quivering hand, “I’ll tell you where Cas is.” he said, his voice strained, “I just have one question.”

Kim’s voice was cold when she acceded to his request “Ask.”

“If heaven is locked down tight,” Dean rasped, “then where do you go when I do _this?”_ he snarled, dropping all pretenses of weakness as he slammed him bloody palm down on the sigil painted on the ground. The angels screeched as they were torn away with a blinding flash of light, and the ax clattered to the ground.

 

*****

 

Castiel woke slowly with a grunt of pain; his head throbbed from the impact with the airbag, his neck felt rubbed raw from where the belt scraped against his neck and his nose was bleeding. Cas groaned as he sat up, unbuckling himself and looking around. The driver’s seat was empty; rain dripped through the giant hole in the windshield- the edges of the shattered glass stained red with blood.

Cas could hear shouting, hikers and tourists were gathered around Hael’s broken body where she had landed several feet away, thrown by the force of the crash. Their panicked voices clamored over each other as Cas opens the door and his feet touch the pavement, but their shouts turn to screams and they scramble back from the body as Hael sat up abruptly, her eyes glowing.

Hael was a mangled mass of broken limbs. Her legs were bent at unnatural angles, bone protruding gruesomely from the joints. Chunks of flesh had been stripped from her shoulders, and her once bright yellow cardigan was now shredded and stained red with blood. Fragments of broken glass were embedded in Hael’s hairline like a crown of shards, and blood mixed with rainwater as it ran in rivulets down her face. Tourists began to scatter, shrieking, as Hael rose from the ground as if lifted by an invisible force; her halo crackled to life above her head as her limbs began to realign themselves slowly- with the sickening, wet sound of bones and flesh snapping back into place.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, devastated, as he approached her slowly, “I didn’t want to hurt you.” he stood before her in the downpour, “I didn’t want to hurt any of them- I want to _help_ you. I will devote my life to helping you all.” he declares, resolved.

“Do you know _ridiculous_ you sound?” Hael hissed through her teeth, “Help angels? After what you’ve _done?”_ Hael stood on broken ankles, her feet still twisted and bent at abnormal angles, her halo flared erratically, “They don’t want your help Castiel they want your _head!”_ she spat at him.

“You’re wrong!” Castiel snapped desperately, “I _am_ one of you. I will never _stop_ being one of you.” he said unyielding.

Hael lunged at him, and despite her shattered vessel, she’s lightning fast. He jumped back to avoid her outstretched bloody palms but Hael crawled forward and sized his ankle in an iron grip, yanking his feet out from under him. Castiel fell backward landing hard, and she scrambled on top of him, her hands at this throat. “You stopped being one of us the _second_ you chose to forgo your orders and side with _him_!” she screamed in his face. Hael hits him and he tastes blood. Pain- raw and agonizing- blossoms through his face. “You think I need your help?” she hissed as she decked him again. Cas’s vision swam, the electric glow of her halo was blurry above him. “I’ll show you what I’m capable of.” Hael struck him again, and Cas couldn't help the groan of pain that escaped his lips, “Unless you open your heart and say _yes_ -” Hael delivered yet another blow, “-I will beat you within an inch of your miserable mortal life, and just before you die- I’ll heal you so I can begin all over again.”

“In the words of a good friend-” Castiel managed to wheeze faintly, “-go fuck yourself.”

Rain turned to hail around them as Hael growled in rage and raised her fist to continue pummeling Cas into relenting- when a gunshot rang out loudly, echoing through the canyon. The bullet shattered Hael’s collarbone, blood and chunks of bone splattered across Cas's face. They both turned to see Harley stumble out of the car as she advanced, continuing to fire in rapid succession. Hael’s body jerked under the force of the bullets as two more lodged in her chest; the last bullet struck her skull and blew off her left temple. Blood and chunks of skull rained down on Castiel from the immense wound as Hael’s head whipped around; bits of brain slid down her cheek as she made furious eye contact with the girl who shot her.

Hael rose from the ground, releasing Castiel to stand on fractured legs. Her eyes glowed a brilliant blue-white as her wings unfurled from behind her in all their broken glory. Hael’s wings were like that of the common kingfisher; royal blue feathers finely spotted with turquoise on greater coverts while the underparts were a golden rufous-orange. Electricity sparked in the air around her as Hael opened her mouth and released a shriek that echoed through the mountains with a clap of thunder, as if it were the voice of the Canyon itself. With a sharp downwards twist of her hand, the blade transfigured into a rapier as she stalked forward on fragmented ankles with spasmodic, jerky, steps.

Harley stood there quivering- her knees shaking, her mouth open, lips trembling, face pale and eyes wide- as she took in the holy wrath of the angel advancing on her. Harley tightened her jaw, grasped her pistol with both hands and continued firing. Hael spasmed under the force of the bullets burying themselves in her gut; it did nothing except halt her steps- but it gave Castiel his chance.

Castiel pushed past the pain and snatched up his blade; he spun it in his hand and it transformed into an intricate cutlass. Cas plunged his sword through the meat of Hael’s calf ,bringing her to her knees- then in one intricate motion, he yanked his blade from her leg and brought it down on her sword arm, severing it at the wrist. Hael’s enraged and agonized scream seemed to shake the earth and very mountains around him as her rapier clattered to the ground, her severed hand still clutching the hilt in a growing pool of blood.

Hael spun around with a livid wail and raised her remaining hand, electricity jumping between her fingers with every intention of smiting Castiel where he knelt. Cas took a deep breath and braced himself, but just before Hael’s hand cut through the air- the blade of her rapier burst from her chest. Hael released one last guttural scream before there was a blinding light and her body crumpled to the ground; her pale blue eyes staring out, unseeing, over the very mountain range they’d created.

 

*****

 

Dean pushed his bruised and battered body into Sam’s hospital room wincing, to the incessant beeping of monitors. “What the hell is happening?” he snapped at Ezekiel who was seated in the chair next to Sam’s bed.

“This just started,” he said, gesturing at the monitors, “but about the warding... I’m afraid I’m weaker than I thought.” Dean immediately snatched up the other marker and began crossing out sigils, but when Ezekiel spoke sorrowful behind him, Dean froze, “I am sorry Dean.”

“No. No, no- no.” Dean rushed over to him, jabbing a finger in Ezekiel's face as panic threatened to over take him once again, “No! We had a _deal_ , okay?! I fight. You save.”

Ezekiel looked at him sadly, un-offended by his hostility, “And would that I could. I’m just afraid it’s too late.” he said gently.

“Are you kidding me?” Dean nearly whispered, the air suddenly gone from his lungs, “Are you saying there’s no way to save my brother’s life?”

Ezekiel's face was sympathetic as he said, “No good ways, I’m afraid.”

“Well, what are the bad ones?!” Dean barked, a small flare of hope rising in him despite himself, “We’re out of options here, man!” he shouted, nearly frantic, “Good or bad, let me hear ‘em!”

“I cannot promise...” Ezekiel doesn’t break eye contact, “but there is a chance I can fix your brother. From the inside.”

“From the inside?” Dean echoed, “So, what- _possession?!”_ he asked, his voice rising in pitch and a horrified look forming on his face, “You want to _possess_ Sam?” 

“I told you.” Ezekiel said softly.

“No way.” Dean breathed.

“Understood.” Ezekiel replied immediately, empathetic. “ It’s your call.”

“No. It’s Sam’s call.” Dean said bitterly, “There’s no fucking way in hell he’d say yes to being possessed by _anything.”_

“He would rather die.” Ezekiel said understanding. The angel observed the open pain and conflict on Dean’s bloodied face and rose quietly to his feet; with a wave of his hand, he silenced the monitors. Dean’s blood went cold in the sudden silence. “I’ll leave you two alone then.” Ezekiel said gently, giving Dean a consoling glance as the angel turned to leave.

“Wait.” Dean couldn't breathe; he’s wasn't strong enough to face this, he never has been. He couldn't lose Sam. He _can’t-_ Dean wouldn’t know how to live. He turned back towards the angel and considered him. Considered the significance of what he was about to do. “How will it work?” he asked, his voice broken.

“Mutual benefit I suppose.” Ezekiel said slowly, “I heal Sam while healing myself.”

“And when he’s healed?” Dean asked directly.

“I leave.” Ezekiel says simply. “It’s the best of a bad situation, Dean.”

“Even if I said yes, it doesn’t mean jack squat.” Dean says exhausted, “Sam will never say yes- not to you.”

“But he would say yes to you.” Ezekiel pointed out unperturbed.

Dean took a deep breath to steady himself, the gravity of his decision already weighing on him. “What do I have to do?”

 

*****

 

Hael’s broken wings smolder in the rain; their image forever burned into the stone above the canyon as the echo of her dying scream faded into the mountains. The blood soaked rapier trembled in Harley’s shaking hand as she stared down at Castiel’s battered form and Hael’s broken corpse. Her breath came in quick shallow gasps, and her hazel eyes were wide with horrific disbelief; “Was that-?” she asked, voice strangled.

“Yes.”

“So you’re-?”

“Yes.” Cas groaned, getting to his feet.

“Oh fuck.” she breathed, “Oh, _fuck.”_ she stumbled back a step, staring down at the sword in her hand. “So I really just-”

“Yes.”

_“Fuck_ _me,”_ Harley breathed shakily, running a hand over her buzzed scalp as she stumbled away from Hael’s splintered body and closer to the Canyon’s edge. She reached into her leather jacket with quivering hands and pulled out a joint, sticking it between her teeth. Harley lit the end with trembling fingers and inhaled deeply. “So that meteor shower-”

“Wasn’t a meteor shower.” Cas finished for her, joining her at the ledge. They stared out at the gargantuan canyon before them- Hael’s masterpiece. It was still raining, but the drops were slow and heavy now; golden rays of sun gently parted the storm clouds in the valley- the beams of light mixed dazzlingly with the still falling rain and lit up the rock walls in a radiant display of red, orange, and golden color.

“I just killed...” Harley said, voice trembling, “...the angel who _created_ the Grand Canyon.” she laughed, hysterically and without mirth, “Cool. Cool. Cool- I’m just gonna hate myself for the rest of my life- _shit!”_ she looked out to the vast expanse of canyon stretched out before them, her frenzied eyes shining with self-loathing. “Ugh- I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“I would prefer if you didn’t.” Castiel said awkwardly. He was exhausted, bruised, aching, and tired beyond belief; but Cas felt immensely guilty, staring at Harley who took another drag, the smell of cannabis wafting lightly in the air, as she visibly grappled with the magnitude of her actions and the reality before her. “I’m sorry,” he found himself saying for the second time that day, “I didn't mean to put you in any danger, I just...” he sighed, “I had hoped Hael would see things differently.” he said, his voice heavy.

Harley didn’t say anything to that. She’s silent for another long moment; smoking and staring into the heart of the valley, her eyes distant before she finally turned to him and asked in a quavering voice, realization in her eyes. “Then you’re... actually an angel.”

“Not anymore. “ Cas told her sadly.

Harley nodded vaguely and inhaled through her nose. “I was so naive,” she chuckled mirthlessly, “I was such a fucking idiot- I never fucking considered that you could be... that you were actually...” Harley studied the blood-soaked rapier still in her hand, “I would have done things differently... if I had known.” she says sadly.

“I should have told you.” Cas said regretful.

Harley smiled sadly, “I wouldn’t have believed you.”

“You should keep it,” Castiel says, gesturing to the rapier in her hand, “It’s forged from grace and holy fire,” he took it from her gently and demonstrated with a twirl of his hand the blades metamorphic capabilities, “it’s indestructible by human methods, and it will protect you against angels.” Cas says as he hands the dagger back to her.

Harley considered the shortened blade in her hand before stashing it in her jacket pocket. Her breathing had calmed somewhat, and her hazel eyes were less frantic as they search his face; for what exactly, Cas isn’t sure. She turned away from him and looked back to the valley, extinguishing the joint with a drop of rainwater- it goes out with a faint _hiss._ “Come on.” she said solemnly, turning back to the car. “We need to move.”

Castiel blinked, shocked, at her retreating form, but grateful she’s decided to stick with him. Cas had expected her to abandon him, leaving him to find his own way, and he would’ve understood if she had. He turned his back on the Grand Canyon and followed her to the car, hoping that- perhaps- he might be able to salvage something from this trip after all.

 

*****

 

“So? How’s it look in there?” Dean asks once they’re seated in the Impala, the wind whistling through the car’s broken windows as he drove.

“Not good.” Ezekiel said with Sam’s face, “His damage runs deep- subatomic even; there is much work to be done.”

“Yeah, but he’s gonna wake up, right?” Dean said, a nervous flutter in his tone.

“He will.”

“So when he does- what, is he gonna walk around and feel you triaging his spleen?” Dean asked, disturbed by the thought.

“He will not feel me, no.” Ezekiel replied, “There is no reason for Sam to know I’m in here at all.”

“You’re fucking joking. No- this is- this is too big.” Dean said spluttering.

“And what will he do if you do tell him he is possessed by an angel?” Ezekiel asked curtly.

“Well, he’ll have to understand.”

“And if he does not?” Ezekiel insisted, “Without his acceptance Sam can eject me at any time- especially with me so weak. And if Sam does eject me, he will die.”

Dean sighed, hating his options. “Then we’ll keep it a secret for now. Until Sam’s well enough that he doesn’t need an angelic pacemaker, or I find a way to tell him. I- I...” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “Just- make sure he doesn’t remember this conversation or anything angelic from the hospital.”

“I can do that.” Ezekiel acquiesced.

It’s quiet after that, and Ezekiel sits slumped in the passenger's seat- Sam’s face resting on the door-frame. Dean drives and tries not to think about how fucking weird it was to have someone else speak with his brother’s voice. He took a deep breath, and after a while, was able to lose himself to the road and the music pouring out of his stereo.

“Where are we?” Sam snorted suddenly, blinking awake as if jerking out of sleep and nearly giving Dean a heart attack.

“Whoa!” he muttered, his heart still racing, “Sam?” he asks, just to make sure.

“What?” Sam moaned confused.

“Okay, take- take it easy.” Dean soothed, “How you, uh- how you feeling?”

“Tired.” Sam groaned, “Like I- like I slept for a week.”

“Well, try more like a day. You’ve been out since the sky was spittin’ angels. Rushed you to the hospital when you passed out, they fueled you up- gave you the good stuff, and when you were good to move I made sure we were outta there a-s-a-p.” Dean explained in a rush, “What do you remember?”

“The church, feeling like crap, the angels falling, and a bit of pulling up to the hospital, and that’s it.” Sam said shrugging.

“But you’re feeling good?” Dean reaffirms.

“Yeah. I mean, I just, um... feel like a just ran a marathon... but I’m good.” Sam reassures him.

“Good. I knew you’d pull through.” Dean said with emotion thick in his voice, “I meant what I said at the church. You’re capable of anything, Sam,” he says, looking at him, “and hell if you didn’t prove me right.”

“Good.” Sam said smiling, but with a tight jaw, “‘Cause we got work to do.”

 

*****

 

Harley had to kick out the windshield and turn the ignition over a few times- cursing- before the car finally rumbled to life with a protesting whine, and they were on their way. They had driven for a few hours in relative exhausted silence until the snarling of Cas’s stomach prompted her to pull over. Now they both sat in a booth at Mr. D'z Route 66 Diner; the few other dinner patrons eyeing their bruised and still slightly bloody appearances with sideways glances.

Harley sat across from him, pushing around her hash-browns with her fork without seeing them; her hair was still damp, and there was blood drying in her hairline. Castiel looked worse, his lip was busted and swollen, his cheekbones scratched and raw, and he can feel his left eye beginning to swell. Dried blood stained the collar of his white button-down red, and he had to flip up the collar of his coat to conceal most of it.

“I was an atheist earlier today.” Harley mused faintly to the tabletop; she looked up at Cas suddenly with wide eyes, “Are you going to kill me?” she whispered fervently.

“What?” Cas choked on his pancakes, caught off guard, “No, of course not. Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know... ‘cause I’m a Godless heathen and all that, I suppose.” she muttered sitting back.

Cas snorts, “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Then how does it work? So what-? The fucking _Catholics_ were right all along?” she asks, sarcastic and frenzied.

“Everybody’s a little bit right, everyone’s a little bit wrong,” Cas shrugged, “There’s usually some semblance of truth to any legitimate religion.” he took a bite of his pancakes, talking around the mouthful, “But the generics of Heaven, Hell- angels, demons, and God are generally true.” he said as he swallows.

“There’s- there’s a heaven?” Harley asked, dazed. Castiel nodded around another bite of his breakfast, but noticed the way Harley griped the edge of the table, her knuckles white, her eyes wide.

“Are you okay?” he asked concernedly.

“Yeah- no, I’m _fine,”_ Harley said, nearly sobbing into her hash-browns. “I’m just having breakfast with a fucking angel- the one I _haven’t_ killed today.” she half laughed- half sobbed. Cas has learned it isn’t easy for humans to come to terms with these things and Cas knows Dean struggled with it as well, but he still felt helpless as she grappled with a new understanding of reality. “And everything I assumed was fear-mongering bullshit propaganda my whole life- has _actually_ turned out to be true.” Harley continued as she held her head in her hands and gazed at him through her fingers with calculating eyes. "How did you even end up down here?"

Castiel sighed; "Well... I guess I trusted the wrong person."

"Bad investment advice?" Harley joked; though Cas noted her use of defensive humor, it was Dean's favorite fallback.

"No, vanity." Cas sighed, "I thought I was more important- more effective- than I am, that I could... fix everything. And if it makes you feel any better, it’s still mostly bullshit propaganda,” he muses, “I severed the Holy Host for millennia; believing unwaveringly in my holy orders... only to find out I was wrong- my superiors were leading us astray, intent on creating only through destruction. I’ve learned the hard way that the only righteous path is the one walked with good intentions.”

Harley took a deep breath, “So what are your _intentions_ now that you're down here?"

“Honestly,” he replied, “I’m not sure. I had intended to help Hael, find any way I could to help my fallen brethren, but now... I’m unable to contact my friends, and I’m sure just as many angels want my head as much as they want my help... but I must try.”

Harley considered him seriously from across the table. “So you still intend to help people? Help the angels?”

“I do.” Castiel answered solemnly.

“Good.” Harley said, taking a sip of her coffee, ‘Cause we got work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Whelp, this chapter definitely wasn't easy, but I hope it was decent enough. I've been the only one editing it, so if there are any mistakes I apologize. I honestly really liked Hael when they introduced her in the show- the idea of the angel who created the Grand Canyon was beautiful- and I was _so sad_ she was killed off so thoughtlessly and never got the chance to see it.  
>  The next few chapters will follow the episodes less and less, and I'm going to mix the timeline around a little for convenience sake, but I'll let you know in the notes if I leave something out or introduce someone early.


	3. On The Side Of The Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam return to the bunker, time passes; Dean has to learn to live with his brother being two people, while he struggles with Cas's absence and lying to Sam. It seems like the only distraction might come in the form of a case- people spontaneously turning into goo- but the case gets complicated when they encounter help from an unexpected source.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the wait on this one. _Thank you so much _to everyone who's read this- 60 views for just two chapters is super awesome! A big thank you to the people who have left kudos, it honestly means a lot to me, and each one definitely made me smile!__
> 
> __I've postponed the bulk of the plot in episode 9x02: "Devil May Care" and jumped to a mixture of "I'm no Angel" and "Heaven Can't Wait."_ _

When they arrived at the bunker, Dean narrowly avoided being shot as he opened the door; “Whoa!” he exclaimed, staring at the arrow protruding from the banister, “What the _hell_ man?”

“Dean?” a voice called from below. Dean looked over the side, to see Kevin crouched behind an overturned table and a mountain of books, where he had barricaded himself armed with a crossbow. “You’re alive!” he exclaimed.

“Yeah ‘cause you’re a crappy shot, Katniss.” Dean says irritate; still getting over the shock of being shot at.

“Sorry,” Kevin said as Dean descends the stairs, “It’s been a bad couple of days.” his voice was strained and shaking. “I- I haven't slept or eaten- I’m pretty backed up.” Kevin admitted in a panicked whisper.

Dean tried not to pull a face. “Hey, whoa- okay Mr. Over-Share.” he says, coming to a stop in front of Kevin. The kid does look like absolute shit- he’s pale, sweaty, and shaking; the crossbow still clutched in his hand. “Why don’t you put that thing down huh, and we’ll-?”

Kevin didn’t even seem to hear him, “After we talked, this place went nuts, all right?” he said, his voice climbing higher, “T- There was some alarm, and all the machines were freaking out, and t- the bunker just locked down. I couldn’t open the door- my cell phone stopped working- I thought the world was ending!” Kevin shouted, nearly hyperventilating.

“Whoa, okay, okay- just breathe dude.” Dean put his hands on Kevin’s shoulders, trying to calm the kid down.

Kevin’s breath doesn’t slow; if anything it picks up as his eyes take in Dean’s bruised face, with his swollen eye, and multiple scrapes, “Did the world end? Oh God- it did didn't it?”

Dean sighed, the kid was too smart to lie to, “Close.” he said, watching Kevin’s eyes widen in horror. “The angels fell.”

Kevin seemed to stop breathing, “W- what does that mean?”

“Nothing good.” Dean told him honestly, but chose not to elaborate. The bunker door opened above him as Sam entered with their gear. “Listen,” Dean says, turning back to Kevin and giving him a firm pat on the shoulder, “Next time the world is ending, grab a gun.” Dean took the crossbow from him gently and set it on a nearby table.

“I got service.” Dean said, checking his phone as Sam joined them at the bottom of the stairs.

Kevin walked over to the nearest switchboard and pressed a button; it thrummed to life with a  _whir_  of electricity and glowing lights. “It’s back online,” Kevin said relieved, “Maybe when you opened the door from the outside door it reset the system.” he speculated.

“Yeah, let’s go with that.” Dean says as the three of them file into the kitchen. He rifled through their pantry, and came away with a can of soup. He peeled of the top and plopped it in a pot on the stove while Sam and Kevin sat at the table; both looked exhausted.

“What did you mean earlier?” Kevin asked, “The angel’s fell...how is that even-?”

"Well,” Dean explained as he stirred the soup, “thanks to Metatron we now have a couple of thousand confused, loose nukes walking around down here.”

“What do you think they’re gonna do?” Sam asks from the table.

“I got no damn clue.” Dean answered.

“So what are _we_ gonna do?” Kevin exclaimed, panic seeping back into his voice.

Dean poured the soup into a bowl and slid it in front of Kevin, brandishing a spoon. “Eat. Shower. Sleep- in that order.” he said sternly, “We’ll put our heads together and figure this out, just like always, but we can’t do jack shit if we’re beat to crap.”

Kevin took the spoon from him, looking down at the table and sighed, “Okay.” he relented quietly.

Dean continued to rifle through the cupboards, bending down slowly because his ribs still protested every movement. “Gonna have to make a food run soon.” he said to no one in particular as he threw together some beans and a packet of instant rice for him and Sam, now that Kevin had been fed.

It’s quiet for a while as they eat, all of them in different stages of exhaustion. Kevin finished first, yawning; he got up to leave and follow Dean’s advice, muttering a quiet, “Night guys- glad you’re not dead.” as he passed.

“Yeah, you too pal.” Dean chuckled as Kevin disappeared through the door.

Sam waited until Kevin was out of earshot, “Poor kid’s fucking wrecked.”

Dean sighed, “Yeah, I know. We’ll have to keep a closer eye on him; but he’s a tough kid, he’ll bounce back.”

Sam pushed aside his food, though he’d barely eaten any. “Have you heard from Cas?”

Dean’s heart plummeted, and he tried to school his features as he replied in a gruff voice, “No. Nothing but radio silence.”

“Do you think he could be-”

“I don’t fucking know Sam,” Dean snapped, cutting him off, unable to hear the question voiced. “All I know is he hasn’t fucking answered any of my prayers, and he hasn’t fucking shown up.” Dean swallowed thickly.

“Okay,” Sam says apologetically, “I’m sure he’ll turn up.”

Dean had been so goddamned concerned about saving Sam that he hadn’t allowed himself time to focus on what became of Cas. The damn angel had been so convinced he wasn’t wrong, that he could still fix his home, that Naomi was lying- then angel trials all went to shit, and now... not knowing was, in a certain way, worse. Dean feared that Cas would have done anything to keep failure from being a possibility, even if it cost the angel his life.

Dean is pulled from his spiraling thoughts when Sam asks, “What about Crowley? Did you kill him?”

Dean blinked and refocused, glad for a change in topic. Instead of answering, he smirked and beckoned Sam to follow him as he stood up and headed out of the kitchen. “I would have loved nothing better than to ice that limey bitch,” Dean said as they head back through the bunker and up the stairs, “but I thought about it, and well, I figured the King of Hell might know a few things worth knowin’- so why not _Zero Dark Thirty_ his ass?”

“Wait, so...” Sam said confused as he followed behind Dean, “you left Crowley alive?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean said, approaching the Impala and unlocking the car, “He’s the junk in my trunk.” he lifted the trunk and stepped aside.

Sam laughed at the sight of Crowley, bound and gagged in the trunk. “Yeah, no shit.” he chuckled as the King of Hell glared at them both. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

They shoved a black canvas sack over Crowley’s head along with some heavy-duty noise cancelling ear muffs; “I say, we toss him in the Brig.” Dean suggested as they frogmarched him into the bunker.

“I agree.” Sam said from behind him. The Brig was another wing of the dungeon, directly next to the interrogation room; the deep stone walls contained eight iron cells, the crossed bars were embedded with sigils and warding, a devil’s trap painted on the floor of every cell- the perfect prison, designed to contain pretty much anything.

They secured Crowley in the closest one, chaining him to the wall by the neck and leaving the cuffs on him. They weren’t fucking taking any chances with this fucker, as far as Dean was concerned. Crowley made a muffled noise as Dean yanked the bag from over his head and ripped off the duct tape none too gently, but smirked at Dean once his mouth was free. “Well, hello gorgeous.”

Dean smiled at Crowley before he pulled back and punched him in the face. _“Aah,”_ Crowley groaned, blinking is eyes in pain while Dean shook out his hand.

“Ah, never get tired of doing that.” Dean smirked while Crowley groaned.

“Homey.” Crowley mocked sardonically as he took in the surrounding cell, “Where did you get this fantastic little tree house?”

Dean ignored him as Sam stepped forward and spoke. “All right, here’s how it’s gonna go. You’re giving us the names of every high profile demon you have on Earth and the people they’re possessing.”

Crowley eyed the notebook and pencil Sam held with a smirk. “Am I?” he snorted snidely. “Doesn’t sound like me.”

“I saw you break down Crowley,” Sam said smugly, “when I was trying to cure you, I know a part of you was human again, maybe still is-”

“Blah-blah, boo-hoo.” Crowley snapped; he tried to make it sound dismissive, but Dean knew Sam had struck a nerve, “Done?” Crowley asks as if he’s bored, “Good. ‘Cause this is what _I_ know. I’m not giving you anything. Why would I? You have no _leverage,_ darlings. You’re not gonna close the Gates of Hell, because you _didn’t_ . You’re not going to kill me because you _haven’t_. So, what’s left?”

“We have a few ideas.” Dean said smiling, standing beside Sam.

“Torture?” the demon snorted, “Brilliant. Can’t wait to see Sam in stilettos and a leather bustier,” Crowley sneered with a predatory grin, “really putting the _S-A-M_ into _S-and-M.”_ he laughed at the uncomfortable look on Dean’s face, “Honestly, boys, what are you gonna do to that I don’t do to myself just for kicks every Friday night?”

Dean and Sam glanced at each other smiling, exchanging a silent conversation, before turning on their backs on Crowley. Dean paused at the door, turning back with a smirk, “Have fun.” he taunted as he turned off the lights and closed the heavy iron door on Crowley’s incredulous face, leaving him in the dark.   

“Oh man,” Dean laughed as they exit the dungeon and headed back to the kitchen, “oh man- he’s gonna _hate_ that.”

Sam stiffened suddenly mid laugh in Dean’s peripheral with a flash of blue in his eyes. Sam now stood rigidly against the counter where he’d been lounging, “Do you really think it wise,” he said in a nearly completely different voice, “to keep a demon such as _that_ simply stored away?”

Dean did a double take, all laughter gone from his voice, “Wh- _Ezekiel?”_ Ezekiel nodded. Dean could see the change- even though it was Sam, his face was now oddly devoid of emotion, his stance drawn tall and alert. Dean blinked as he tried to move past the shock of Sam suddenly not-being Sam, and focus on the question. “W- we need him. He’s the King of Hell, not just any demon. He has the locations of every despicable demon crawling around on the surface.”

“He is a threat to us.” Ezekiel insisted. “I can walk back into that room and smite him where he sits.”

“No!” Dean said firmly, “That information is just too valuable to throw away.”

“Why is that?” Ezekiel questioned, “How can an abomination such as _that_ have any value?”

“It’s just that, uh...” Dean took a deep breath as he looked Ezekiel in the face, “I was the one who talked Sam out of boarding up hell, okay? So every demon deal, every- every kill that they make, every person they possess... well, you’re looking at the sorry son of a bitch who let it happen.” Dean said bitterly, the self-loathing in his tone audible.

Ezekiel frowned, his head tilted, “You were protecting your brother.” Ezekiel argued, his voice compassionate, “I am in Sam’s head. Everything he knows, I know. And I know that what you did, you did out of love.”

The way Ezekiel was gazing at him, with open sincerity, compassion, and understanding made something uncomfortable twist in his stomach, “Yeah. uh, look, Zeke- I’m gonna call you Zeke-” Dean said casually as the angel blinked and furrowed his brow, “I’m not really with the whole, uh love and... _love.”_ Dean said with a disgruntled shiver.

Zeke just tilted his head, “But it _is_ why I said yes.” the angel said, confused.

 _Jesus fucking Christ._ Dean has never been good with this- with people putting their trust in him, only to ultimately be let down, and let down hard. He’s done it to everyone he’s ever even given a shit about, and now he’s gonna do it again. Not only to Sam- but to this poor fucking angel- who reminds Dean uncomfortably of Cas, back before Dean broke him. “Yeah-” he says in a choked voice, “and if that goes sideways, that’s on me too.”

Zeke’s eyes widened and he only looked more perplexed, but he spoke with conviction, “That is not going to happen.”

Dean looked at the earnest, reassuring expression on the angel’s face, and chuckled despite himself. “Man, this is nuts. I mean, you’re Sam- but you’re not Sam- and normally he’s the one I’m talking to about all this stuff....” Dean took a deep and unsteady breath as he met Ezekiel’s eyes- _Sam’s_ eyes, “I’m trusting you, Zeke.” the thought filled Dean with conflict, “I just got to hope that you’re one of the good guys.”

“I am.” Ezekiel’s voice held conviction, but after a moment he blinked and frowned. “But I suppose that is what a bad guy would say.” he said with a quiet revelation.

Dean can’t help but chuckle at that. Zeke seemed earnest enough, and though they had little alternative, Dean wanted this to work, wanted desperately for something to go right for once. “Sorry,” he sighed, “I’m just... still getting used to this whole thing.”

Zeke nodded in understanding, “As am I.” there’s a brief silence, as both Dean and the angel consider the other before Ezekiel spoke, “I will trust your judgement regarding the demon.”

Dean sighed relieved, “I’ll let you know if I change my mind.”

Ezekiel nodded once, before his eyes flashed blue with grace- and suddenly Sam was back to lounging against the kitchen counter chuckling as if no time had passed. “Hell yeah he is- that slimy fucker loves to be the center of attention; and now he’s dethroned and rotting in the basement.” Sam chuckled again before catching sight of Dean’s face, “What’s wrong?”

Dean blinked, mentally shaking himself, and tried to dislodge the unnerving feeling of two pairs of eyes staring back at him from Sam’s concerned face. It was a disturbing reminder that- at least for now- there would be no privacy between him and Sam; that he could no longer reveal anything to Sam in confidence. “It’s just, uh-” Dean cleared his throat and snapped back, “Kevin’s not gonna be happy with our newest flatmate.”  

Sam’s eyes widened, “Shit. You’re right.” he ran a hand through his hair, “What should we do about that?”

Dean sighed, “Well, it’s a goddamn bitch of a situation, but I think we should keep it under wraps for now- kid’s about to lose it at any moment.”

Sam frowned, but nodded- Dean tried not to be disturbed noticing the similarities between this brother's expression and Ezekiel’s. Sam said reluctantly, “Yeah, you’re right. We’ll just have to steer Kevin away from the dungeon for now.”

 _Great, now I’m hiding things from_ Sam _and_ Kevin _. Fucking fantastic._ Dean thought to himself bitterly. “We’ll have to tell him eventually.”

“Fine.” Sam said, and after a pause, “So, now what?”

“Now, we find Cas; if the angels get to him before we do...” Dean pushed aside the thought with a shudder, “I gotta make some phone calls. Kevin’s gonna need to hit the angel tablet, see if he can find anything on the spell that Metatron used to empty out Heaven. Maybe we can reverse it before the God Squad does too much damage.”

“Yeah if we’re lucky. I’ll check the ‘net for anything angel-y.”

“Yeah or demon-y, or monster-y or ghost-y or--” Dean sighed, “It’s gonna be a busy year.”

 

*****

 

Dean put out the APB on Cas only hours later; but had been weeks now and not a single hunter had seen or heard anything about a odd, dark haired angel in a rumpled coat, and Dean is beginning to panic. It’s nearing a month since he’d last seen Cas, and it’s unlike the angel to just ignore his prayers, especially when he had been so desperate, and Dean can’t help but worry. He knew Castiel had believed himself the only one capable of fixing Heaven- that closing the gates and facing the angels’ judgement on the other side was his responsibility- and Dean hated it. The last time Dean had seen Cas, he’d been forced to contemplate Cas leaving, but now that he was actually gone... Dean would never admit it, but he was going crazy.

Sam was still too weak to take on any new cases, and that meant they were mostly confined to the bunker for the first few weeks. He and Sam mostly spent painstaking hours at the table in the study, attempting to help Kevin decipher the angel tablet into some fucking doodle language Kevin called cuneiform. “I- I hit a wall translating the tablet into English.” the kid explained in a rush over dinner one night- “But I found an ancient codex linking the angel script to proto-elamite cuneiform, and I was able to translate the tablet and the footnotes into elamite, which is-”

“Doodles?” Dean sighed, his head spinning. _Kid might as well be speaking Korean for all I fucking know._ Dean thought miserably as he looked down at the- well, _doodles_ \- in his hand.

“It’s extinct.” Kevin said with a pinched face.

“Well can you read it?” Sam asked from across the table.

“No one can. Scholars have tried for centuries.” Kevin admitted quietly. Dean was starting to understand why the kid looks so beat, just listening to this crap exhausts him.

“So it’s a dead end?” Dean asked, tossing the papers onto the table and trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. He knows Kevin’s doing his best, but it’s still frustrating as all hell.

“N- not quite. Now, most proto- elamite is abstract, but I was able to decipher one phrase from Metatron’s footnotes. “Falling angels.’”

“Okay, so, the footnotes refer to Metatron’s spell?” Sam asked.

“Maybe.” Kevin said, and Dean groaned.

“Okay,” Sam says, crossing to a bookshelf, “well, maybe if we can decipher the footnotes, then we can reverse the spell and-”

“Punt those winged dicks back to Heaven.” Dean interjected, perking up as he followed Sam’s as he followed his brother’s line of thought. “Where do we start?”

“Research.” Sam says as he tossed a heavy hardcover volume on the table in front of Dean, where it landed with a loud _thud._ “We comb through the library, see if we can find anything else on elamite.”

 _“‘Zimmerman’s Encyclopedia of Extinct Languages Volume 1: Adai to Atakapa.’”_ Dean read off the cover, “How many volumes are there?”

“Twenty-four.” Kevin replied immediately; at the look of dismayed shock on Dean’s face, he added, “Don’t worry, we’ve got them all.”

 _Oh fuck me._ “Awesome.” he said sarcastically as he dragged the volume closer to himself and prepared to dig in as Sam and Kevin did the same, flipping pages and murmuring to each other; but after a few week of reading until he was cross eyed- Dean became frustrated with research altogether. He’d never been the scholarly type, and Kevin’s manic energy and intense concentration became too much to be around; so he mostly left it to Sam and the kid, dropping in with food and water every few hours to make sure they were still alive.

Weeks later- and nothing to show for it- left Dean practically crawling out of his skin with hardly anything else to do but wonder what became of Cas. He got back in touch with some hunters, but _still_ no one’s heard of an angel named Castiel. It’s been two months now since Dean saw Cas last at that decrepit little church, and he has no idea where to even start looking for the angel.

Dean asks Ezekiel about finding Cas one night when he finds Zeke in the library, reading a novel with a look of perplexity as the angel flipped through the pages. Apparently, Zeke had taken to getting up and wandering around after Sam fell asleep and returned by morning so that Sam was none the wiser. Dean tried not to be creeped out by this, but it unnerved him all the same.

Ezekiel didn't even look up from the book he’d selected when Dean asks about Cas; replying immediately with a flat, “It cannot be done. He is warded.” Dean doesn’t reply and tried not to let the disappointment show on his face, but in the tense moment of silence, Ezekiel looked up from his book with far too much understanding in his eyes when he says, “I am genuinely sorry, Dean.”

It’s different after that. Dean’s agitation bleeds into the bunker, despite his best efforts. He’s surly and irritable and is quick to snap at Kevin and Sam, despite none of it being their fault. Dean’s foul mood is grating on all of them, and he can tell Sam and Kevin’s patience is thinning, and they all dance around each other awkwardly. Dean tried to dial back his anger, for their sake; but in the absence of anger, melancholy was quick to take its place.  

Dean would never allow himself to give up on Cas; but for the first time, he was forced to consider that Cas could be dead, or murdered- lying in a crater somewhere and rotting where he had fallen. The thought brought on such a wave of anguish and helplessness that later that night Sam finds Dean drunk at the library table, nursing his fifth glass of whiskey. The look Sam gives him is almost pitiful, and Dean can hardly look his brother in the eye. Dean addressed the glass in his hand instead, “I think he’s dead Sam.” he said, his voice horse and slightly slurred.

Sam sat down slowly at the table in front of him; he doesn’t take the drink from Dean’s hand, but pours himself one and pushes the decanter out of Dean’s reach. “He’s been MIA like this before Dean,” Sam said gently, “he’ll turn up.”

“I- I just don’t know.” Dean said, exhausted. “I mean- I can’t...” the lull of alcohol is warm under his skin, but it makes it hard to form his thoughts into sentences. “I just _hate_ not knowing. I _fucking_ hate this, every _fucking_ time...”

Sam nodded as he sipped his drink; he didn’t try to give Dean false hope- for which Dean was thankful- he just sighed and said, “I know, I hate it too; but we won’t give up on him, okay? We’ll keep looking.”

Dean’s eyes burned and the tightness in his throat kept him from speaking. He didn’t quite believe Sam, but he appreciated his brother’s understanding and determination more than he could ever say. Sam stayed with him while he finished his drink so he wouldn’t be alone, and put a steadying hand on his shoulder when Dean stumbled on the way back to his room. Sam made sure Dean was turned on his side and a glass of water was in reach, before he switched off the lights as he turned to leave the room. Dean wished he had something better to say to his brother than a quiet and slurred, “Thanks Sammy.”

But Sam smiled at him anyway as he paused in the doorway. “Anything for my big brother.”

 

*****

 

Dean brewed coffee early one morning; and if he actually used the fancy silver coffee pot the stuffy scholars had left behind, whose to say? Dean meandered down the hallway in his robe and slippers, coffee warming his hands. He had noticed Sam’s bedroom door was open, but as Dean walked through the bunker he found it empty. “Sam?” he called as he entered the study, “You here?”

There was no response; but seconds later, the door to the bunker opened overhead and Sam entered. He was already dressed, and looked animated and awake, despite the early hour. “Hey,” he called brightly in greeting as he descended the stairs, “mornin’!”

Dean checked his watch and raised his eyebrows, “You been outside already?” he says incredulously.

“Yeah.” Sam chuckled as he walks up to Dean, “Woke up, went for a run. Beautiful sunrise.” Dean made a face at him, “Anyways, cleaned up. Went and got breakfast; grabbed you real bacon and eggs, extra grease. Not even gonna argue.” Sam said, pushing the takeout box across the table.

“Mm, perfect.” Dean said as he accepted the takeout from Sam and sat down. “Wait-” he said pausing as something occurred to him, “you went running?”

“What?” Sam said flippantly, “Why do you look so worried?”

“Let’s see.” Dean says annoyed, “There's Cas, who we haven’t seen since before the angels fell, that was _months_ ago, and we don’t know where he is out there... and then there’s you.”

“Me?” Sam scoffs, “I feel great.”

“I’m sure you do- but, Sam, you went through the trials.” Sam scoffed and scratched absently at his head and leaned back in his chair, like Dean was nagging him. “Okay- that put a big strain on you. I just think it’s better if you took it easy, you know, and didn’t act like you were-”

Sam sat up abruptly in his chair, there was a flash of blue in his eyes, and then it’s Ezekiel who finishes Dean’s sentence. “-Possessed by an angel.” Every one of Zeke’s small movements was fluid and graceful as he regarded Dean. “And he _does_ feel better. A work in progress, of course, but I am slowly healing him.”

Dean stared at him with wide eyes, his mouth gaping as he struggled with suddenly talking to another person. “That’s great.” he said tartly, and his jaw twitches. “Um, but- Zeke, you can’t just drop in anytime you want. Sam’s going to catch on-”

“I have news.” the angel said, cutting to the chase.

“Is it about Cas?” said Dean, leaning forward.

“No.” Zeke said bluntly. “However, I may have found something for you.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” Dean said sitting back, annoyed he got his hopes up.

“A case.”

“A _case?”_

“Yes.” Ezekiel’s tone is as flat and factual as ever. “Five missing and presumed dead in Paradise Kansas, not far from here.”

“What makes you think it has something to do with us?”

“I have felt distinct angelic disturbances nearby over the past few days; I believe these disappearances may have something to do with that. Angels may very well be killing people in Kansas.”

Dean sighed as he pulled his laptop closer to him to confirm Zeke’s story; it's the closest angelic lead they’ve had in a while, and if Sam really was feeling better, Dean figured it was worth looking into. He finds a newspaper article, and sure enough- five presumed dead in Paradise. “Says here, that no bodies have been released to loved ones, and there have been reports of a “strange substance” at the scenes.” Dean sighs reluctantly as he continued to read the article, but admitted, “Yeah, guess that sounds like us.”

Ezekiel beamed, “You see Dean, I can be useful.”

Dean nodded, still annoyed at the sudden intrusion. “Well, so can my brother. So why don’t you go check your email, and if I need your help I’ll let you know.”

Zeke blinked once his eyes flashing blue, before Sam was back to lounging in his chair; his gawky gait nothing like Ezekiel’s gracefulness. “Look Dean, I know you’re worried- but honestly I feel fine- better than fine actually. I feel energized, for the first time in a long time; and running felt _amazing,_ I was hardly even tired.”

Dean hardly heard what Sam said; he can’t do anything but stare, deeply unsettled with how fast the change happened. “Jesus, I’m gonna get whiplash.” he muttered darkly into his coffee mug as he took a gulp.

Sam stared at him, raising an eyebrow “What?”

“Nothing.” Dean says, clearing his throat. “Um, alright, so, I was thinking- if angels are killing people in Kansas we need to make that our first priority.”

Sam blinked at him blankly, “Why do you think they’re killing people in Kansas?”

“I- uh...” _Fuck._ Dean briefly forgot he was talking to two different people. “I think I found a case!” he stuttered in a rush, “Five victims suddenly disappeared; and with all these angels running around- I just thought... here just read it.”

Sam blinked at the laptop in confusion when Dean passed it over. “When did you find this? I didn't even know you were looking for a case.” Thankfully, Sam didn’t seem to expect an answer, and he kept reading with a wrinkled brow. “Yeah, seems a little weird.” he said mildly.

“' _A little weird?’_ ” Dean echoed, “I mean, its more than a little weird don’t ya think?”

“What's your point Dean?” Sam sighed in exasperation, “I mean, there’s nothing to indicate it was the work of angels; it’s barely even a case.”

“The point- _the point_ is I’m going stir crazy, okay? And we’ve taken cases for less before, so we’ll just go have a little look-see and make sure everything’s hunky dory, okay?”

“In other words, a perfect excuse to bail out on research.” Kevin’s voice said suddenly from behind them as he approached the table, giving Dean a look as he sat down with his coffee and a bowl of cereal.

“You got me.” Dean admitted, “But I need a break man, it's been _months_. Even if this isn’t hunt, I need to hit the road.”

Kevin just shrugged and rolled his eyes and Sam finally relented, “Yeah, alright, I’ve been feeling pretty cooped up myself.”

“Awesome!” Dean beamed and slammed his hand on the table as he stood up. “Let’s pack up and gas up; I wanna be on the road _a-s-a-p._ ”

 

*****

 

Nothing felt better than than the rumble of the car engine, the wind on his face, and the Impala's tires thundering over the asphalt as Dean tore down the stretch of highway. AC/DC’s _Problem Child_ blasted out of the car stereos, Sam smiled in the passenger seat as he bobbed his head to the music; and _God-_ Dean hadn’t felt like this in months.

Dean savored the seven hours it took them to get to Paradise. The small town didn’t exactly live up to its name; with a population of only 49, the town consisted mostly of shabby farmhouses divided by thick cornfields, a few small schools, and a handful of houses. They booked a room in the only motel in town and quickly changed into their suits before heading to the latest crime scene.

The small farmhouse was scattered with cop cars; their sirens were silent, but the red and blue lights danced over the raindrops that had settled on every surface. A grim looking older man approached the Impala as Sam and Dean exited the car. His uniform identified him as the sheriff and he eyed them with gruff eyes as they walked forward. “Can I help you boys?”

“Sure hope so,” said Dean in an authoritative tone, “Agents Hetfield and Page. Here ‘bout the missing persons case.”

The Sheriff gave a gruff, “Huh-” as he looks over the badges, “-more Feds? The first weren’t enough?”

Sam smiled stiffly as they took back their badges and said smoothly, “We like to be thorough.” He and Dean exchanged an acute look over the Sheriff’s head, and Dean knew they were both thinking the same thing. Nothing they’d read indicated a Federal presence in the case, they’d have to tread more carefully.

“Well, can’t complain,” said the Sheriff, “this one’s a doozy. The coroner can explain more- she’s just ahead here- but you just missed your other agent- left to go examine the first crime scene.” The Sheriff led them up the overgrown path, strewn with old junk and rusted metal, to the tiny shack of a house; the windows were splattered with pink, like someone had painted it from the inside.

A young woman was standing on the leafy, rain soaked, lawn frowning at the file in her hands; she looked up when the sheriff approached. Dressed in a black three piece suit, her long black hair was wound in a loose braid that cascaded down her shoulder, and when she turned her head to speak to the sheriff, Dean noticed her hair was buzzed short on the other side.

She eyed them critically as the Sheriff walked off to talk to nearby officers and they approached. “Badges please, gentlemen.” she said briskly when they stopped in front of her.

Dean regarded her as they handed over their ID’s for her inspection. She looked younger up close- her height gave her an advantage from afar- and her face was pale aide from the few freckles she had scattered across her cheekbones. “Agents James Hetfield and Jimmy Page.” she read in a flat tone. She squinted at them as she handed their badges back, “My name is Diana Kent, I’m the Federal Coroner; my partner on this case is Clarence Bailey.”

Dean shifted on his feet, if he’d suspected Feds earlier, Dean would’ve made different choices for their badges. “Aren’t you a little young for a Federal Coroner?” he quipped in hopes to distract her from their shitty aliases.

It worked; she glared at him as she gave them their badges back. “Perhaps. But being top in my class made getting my bachelor's easy, and it only took two years to secure my MD.” she said coolly with an air of smugness.

“That’s very impressive.” Sam placated.

“It is.” Dean admitted apologetically. It began to rain again softly, more like a heavy mist. “So, uh, five missing?” Dean prompted, hoping he hadn’t pissed her off too badly.

Diana glanced between the two of them again skeptically before she relented. “Five dead. Just got confirmation.”

“And, uh, any common threads you can think of?” Sam asked.

“Well, apparently, Joe in there had the suicide hotline on speed dial.” Diana said nodding towards the ramshackle house. “The gal before him was a shut-in; had enough antidepressants in her medicine cabinet to stock a pharmacy. The first victims- a married couple and their daughter, out of Hays- pretty much a walking billboard for no-fault divorce; daughter had been institutionalized in several psychiatric facilities.”

“So they were all-” Sam began to say.

“Basket cases?” Dean finished for him. Sam stepped on his foot.

The Coroner gave him a sharp look. “They were all in stages of mental distress, yes.” she said with a hard tone in her voice. “If you asked me to make a list of this town’s saddest sacks, these five would’ve been right on top.”

“All right, so, five unhappy people- one of them definitely suicidal... but you’ve ruled out suicide?” Sam asked slowly.

Diana waved over someone from forensics instead of answering and handed over two nitrile forensic suits, saying, “You’re gonna want to put these on.” Sam and Dean pulled on the protective suits as Diana did the same and secured surgical masks over their faces before they entered the small house. It was cramped and shabby, everything is dingy and dark- the only exception was the smooth, hot pink, spray covering half the room. It smelled odd, like sour milk- or meat gone bad. “This look like suicide to you?” Diana asked from behind them as they took in the bizarrely grizzly scene before them.

“Blood?” Dean asked, unfazed.

“If the tests come back same as the others, it’s everything.” Diana answered, her voice only slightly muffled by the mask. “Blood, skin, hair, nails, internal organs, even clothing fibers- like these poor people got run through the world’s finest wood-chipper.”  

“What about witnesses?” Sam asked, stepping around the edge of the pink sludge to get a closer look.

“Same as the rest. Neighbors reported some kind of a pink flash; by the time the police got here, all that was left was... this.” Diana answered grimly.

Dean stepped forward, appearing to study the human puree more closely, but was actually sweeping the room for anything distinctive. The air was free of sulfur, and as discreetly as he could, pulled his EMF meter out of his pocket and ran it swiftly over the pink splatter in front of him- nothing. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sam pushing aside couch cushions and checking crevices for hex bags.

Sam made his way over to where Dean was kneeling and crouched beside him, muttering through his mask quietly so only Dean can hear. “Spontaneous combustion? What made you think it was angels? Could be the Thules?”

“Nah, I already ruled them out- no sign of a burned body; and angels have been known to- you know...” Dean snapped his fingers _“puree people.’_ ” Dean looked up and noticed the Coroner watching them as they spoke. Her hazel eyes were sharp, the mask covering the rest of her face made them difficult to read; but Dean got to his feet nonetheless, cutting their conversation short.

Diana was still watching them with impassive eyes, and in the pause, Dean felt like she might have said something- but the moment was broken when an officer pushed the door open and strode over to them- the look on their face prompting Diana to speak, asking, “What’s wrong?”

“There’s been another incident- over at a nearby residence.” The officer informed them, “The Sheriff has gone on ahead. Same pink substance reported on the scene.”

“Tell him we’re right behind him.” Dean said as they strode back out on the damp lawn and began to peel off their protective jumpsuits. The responding officers’ vehicles were already peeling out, leaving tire marks in the sodden earth as they sped off; their sirens wailing until only the ambulance and forensics were left. In their absence, the sound of the lightly falling rain became surprisingly loud.

Dean turned to dismiss Diana- planning on giving her some federal bullshit line- but the Coroner whipped off her surgical mask when he turned to address her- and beneath it, Dean was surprised to find a smug smirk. She glanced between the two of them with raised eyebrows. For some reason, her haughty expression rubbed Dean the wrong way, and he couldn’t help but snap, “What?”

Diana’s smirk only grew, and so did Dean’s irritation. “Are we gonna talk about how painfully obvious you were in there- because I mean, seriously- were you even trying to be discrete?” she said in a taunting tone.

“Excuse me?” Dean bristled.

“I mean, I’ll hand it to you- your ID’s were well crafted,” she said as Dean deflated, “But come on... James Hetfield and Jimmy Page? Last time I checked, neither of you are the lead singer of Metallica or the founder of Led Zeppelin- but that aside; you weren’t exactly subtle checking for EMF for rifling through the place for hex bags.”

Dean sighed in exasperation. “You’re a hunter.”

“So you’re not the Coroner?” Sam asked.

She chuckled, her smug smirk replaced with one more lighthearted. “No more than you are F.B.I. agents.”

Sam nodded glanced around, “We don’t have time to do this here, we need to get to the latest crime scene.”

“I’m going with you.” Diana said firmly.

“Like Hell you are.” said Dean.

She eyed him coolly, “My partner and I have been working this case for the past day and a half; he took the car to the first scene, and I know things about this case you’re only just beginning to understand.”

He made eye contact with Sam, who gave him a look that clearly said _Dude, come on, don’t start anything._ “Fine-” Dean grouched as they approached the Impala. “But wipe your feet first- you’d better not track any mud in my car.”

Diana snorted, but brushed off her boots before climbing into the car, giving the Impala a look of appraisal and muttering, “Yeah, like Feds would ever be lucky enough to drive a classic like this.”

The complement about his car eased some of Dean’s skepticism, through he’d never admit it; they settled into the car and Dean started up the engine. “What do you think could be doing this to people?” Sam asked from the passenger’s seat.

“Well,” Diana replied slowly from the backseat. “Some Hunters find my answer strange- even for what we do.”

“Try us.” Dean prompted from the wheel.

“Angels.” Diana answered without further pause. “I’m certain this is the work of an angel.”

Dean and Sam glanced at each other, both surprised. “You know about angels?” Sam questioned.

“I do.” she answered, “Through I only became aware of their true existence after the so-called global meteor shower a few months ago.” she glanced between the two of them, “Neither of you seem very surprised, I take it you’ve encountered angels before?”

Dean nearly snorted. “We’ve encountered ‘em a few times over the years.” he said simply.

She raised her eyebrows and nodded, somewhat relieved. “Most Hunters haven’t.” she said, “My partner Clarence, was a priest for most his life until 2008, when angels nearly brought about the apocalypse. And well- life changed for him after that, like it does for most Hunters. He tried to inform Hunters about angels back then, but angels were rare, and lots of Hunters were skeptical of religion. It's only been recently that Hunters have been catching on and listening to what he has to say.”

“We don’t believe it’s just any angel; we’re sure it's of a certain higher class- what’s currently unclear is identity and motive.” Diana informed them. “We only just realized the commonalities between victims recently.” They pulled up to the residence, which was surrounded by police vehicles, “I’ll fill you in more after we speak to the Sheriff.” Diana assured them as they approached the modest, creole cottage.

They climbed up the porch steps and through the open front door and found the Sheriff in the sitting room, speaking softly to an extremely distraught man sitting on the sofa, bouncing a whimpering baby. Officers and first responders were rushing up and down the stairs, past the yellow tape that marked it as an active crime scene.

The three of them approached the sofa, the Sheriff looked up and nodded at them as they neared. He turned and spoke to the man on the couch, “Brian, these are Federal agents who’ve been assigned to the case as well; I’ll need you to answer their questions just like you did for me, can you do that?”

Brian nodded jerkily, and the baby gave another quiet cry from his arms; the baby was wrapped in a towel, recently bathed. The new father looked absolutely wrecked, he had bags under his eyes, his face was red, blotchy from crying, and he had a confused lost look in his eyes as he watched the bustle and activity of the officers as they moved around them. “W- We had run out of diapers and a few other things...” Brian muttered, as they sat down across from him, his voice already shaky and heavy from crying, “So I went out to pick some up, and when I came home-” he took a shuddering breath, “-I could hear the baby crying from her nursery... my wife, Nora, didn’t answer when I called out and when I walked upstairs... I found baby Tanya in the nursery just covered in- in... oh God.” his shoulders heaved with the force of his sobs. “That can’t really be her can it? That can’t really be my wife in there...?”

Brian dissolved into sobs, the infants wails joining her father’s as he cradled her closer. Dean’s heart twinged in sympathy, this was always the part of the job he hated the most; to see such a newly formed family torn apart so violently was never easy.

“I’m so incredibly sorry Brian,” Diana said in a gentle and soothing tone, “I know all this must be very hard.”

“Was Nora acting strange at all?” Dean prompted gently, “Any signs of depression, or anything out of the ordinary?”

Brian sniffed, “She has been dealing with a little Postpartum depression- and she had bad days sometimes- but we’d been going to the doctor regularly, and she was doing... doing good.” he said, his voice breaking on the last two words.

 _Whoomp, there it is._ Dean thought bitterly to himself watching the poor man in front of him struggling with his wife’s loss. Dean made eye contact with Sam and gently pulled him aside, leaving Diana and the Sheriff to question the husband further. She shot him a suspicious glare as he and Sam moved out of earshot, and Dean suspected she was getting tired of their secrecy.  

Sam looked at him questioningly as Dean pulled him aside. “What’s up?”

Dean knew he was about to pull a risky move- but this was a complicated case, and innocent people were dropping like flies. “We’re chasing our tails here. We still don’t know how to find the son-of-a-bitch that did this. _“What’s up?”_ I’m fried.” he explained. Dean took a deep breath through his nose, made eye contact with Sam, and said, “I think it’s time for plan B.” Dean stared.

Sam blinked at him and stared back blankly. “I’m not following.”

Dean leaned forward and kept staring intently, not breaking eye contact. “I’m letting you know.” he said slowly.

Sam raised his eyebrows, looking a little freaked out now. “O- okay. Um, letting me know what?”

Dean leaned forward almost uncomfortably in Sam’s space, maintaining eye contact and saying even more slowly, “I’m letting _you_ know.”

Sam squinted at him, his look of bewildered confusion suddenly smoothing over with a flash of blue eyes. “What is it Dean?” Ezekiel’s annoyed tone said with Sam’s voice.

“I need your help.” Dean said immediately.

“That is flattering.” Ezekiel said tersely. “We’ve been through this, I cannot be making public appearances.”

“I understand that. I’m not asking you to walk the red carpet, Zeke, okay?” Dean said somewhat impatiently, “Maybe you can use your intergalactic, hyperspace, x-ray eyeballs to find whoever did this.”

“I will try.” Zeke agreed, “But Dean,” Dean thought Sam’s face has never looked as grim as when Ezekiel used it, he’d never seen the angel look anything other than worried or impassive, but now Zeke looked downright panicked. “This is no ordinary angel.”

“What does that mean?” Dean asked resigned.

Ezekiel launched into explanation, “There exists a special class of angel, The Rit Zien- it’s enochian for “Hands of Mercy.” They often worked in pairs, and functioned like medics. They tended to the wounded, they healed those who could be healed; but for the mortally wounded- those who were past saving- the Rit Zien’s job was to put them down.”

“So- the granulated bodies?” Dean inquired.

“It is their unique ability. They have a way of smiting that is so quick and so total that it rendered death virtually painless.”

“Yeah, but these aren’t wounded angels that they’re vaporizing, they’re people.” Dean countered.

“But they just got here.” Zeke argued, “On the battlefields of Heaven the Rit Zien would home in on pain- it's like a beacon to them- so when this angel fell to earth, they heard the victims’ cries, their anguish- same as they’d hear an angel’s in Heaven. They’re continuing their Heavenly work down here. One suffering human at a time.”

“Yeah, but this last victim wasn’t suffering. She was just a normal, stressed out, new mom.” Dean argued.

“Yes.” Ezekiel admitted with an air of sorrow, “But the ebb and flow of human emotion- Dean, I’m barely beginning to understand it myself. To an angel- pain is pain.”

“So everybody’s fair game?” Dean asked with apprehension.

“Perhaps not everybody- but anybody, yes.” Ezekiel’s eyes bore into his own, “Dean, this is bad.”

“Fucking fantastic. Alright, well-” Dean glanced over to see Diana talking on the phone, but watching them closely. “We don’t have time for this. Look- make sure Sam doesn’t remember any of this; I don’t need him asking questions in the middle of a case. If I need your help again I’ll let you know.”

“Dean.” Ezekiel said in a serious tone. “If we do encounter these angels, it will be all I can do to hide my presence from them. I cannot protect Sam. Not from an angel like that.”

“We’ll just have to defend ourselves then.” Dean sighed.

Zeke nodded once, saying, “Good luck Dean.” before there was a flash in his eyes again, and Sam’s face slid back into light bafflement. He blinked and looked from Dean to the sofa, a question clearly forming on his lips.

Dean was saved from answering by Diana waving them over, watching them with critical eyes. “You done with your little Pep-Talk?” she asked sarcastically. She didn’t wait for them to reply, instead she handed over a file saying promptly, “Here’s a wrinkle. Just got word from my partner- our first crime scene, the married couple and their daughter- well, full analysis of the spray came back from the lab. Turns out, it only contained the daughter’s DNA.”  

“So the couple’s still out there?” Sam questioned surprised.

Diana nodded as Sam and Dean flipped through the file of the first case, glancing at a photo of the not-so-happy family. “They were already a bit screwy- then the couple found religion.” Diana explained “The daughter was a hard-lined atheist, no peach herself; but then the parents got all obsessed with this Buddy Boyle whack job, and an already unstable family got worse.”

“Buddy Boyle?” Dean questioned with a snort.

“ _‘Reverend Buddy Boyle’s “Goin’ For Glory Hour.”_ Some fanatical Christian Podcast.” Diana explained. “Apparently, the parents were big on “Letting God in.” Like I said, very religious.”

“And angels need consenting vessels.” Dean said grimly under his breath.

Diana nodded. “The Sheriff and a few officers are headed back to the station to file a report-”  Her voice was drowned out by the high-pitched wail of a crying baby, and they looked over to see Brian in the kitchen, struggling to hold baby Tanya while putting together a bottle for her. Diana crossed into the room, taking pity on the struggling father, and said gently, “Here, let me take her while you do that.”

The frazzled father looked up, clearly overwhelmed. “A-Are you sure? She’s very fussy...”

“I’ve faced worse.” Diana said with a small laugh as she lifted the crying baby from his arms and bounced her tenderly while murmuring quietly to her. Brian thanked her profusely and went back to scrambling around the kitchen counter with the air of a man who now seemed displaced in his own house.

Sam, Dean and Diana migrated to the dining room to keep a better eye on Brian while still allowing the man his space. He stood rigidly, staring at the cabinets without seeing them, tears streaming down his face again. Dean felt a pang of guilt twist in his gut at the sight; it was always hard for him not to feel responsible when it was supposed to be his job to stop things like this from happening. Dean turned back to the baby in Diana’s arms, allowing Brian to have his private moment of grief. Tanya hadn’t stopped crying, but her wails had subsided to muffled sobs while Diana rocked her gently in her arms; her fussing helped mute their muttered conversation as Diana filled them in on a special class of angel called the Hands of Mercy- Rit Zien, in Enochian.

Sam listened intently to every word- it being the first time he’d heard this information- but Dean, who had heard this before, was surprised for a different reason. She was fucking right- everything she was saying was nearly verbatim to what Ezekiel had told him privately only minutes earlier. Dean only knew that information because he happened to have a Heavenly source, and the question of how Diana came to know what she knew, grew with every word she spoke. He’d never heard of an angelic expert, or of any human priest with that much factual divine knowledge; he’s just about to interject with his rising questions about this Father Clarence, when a yelp of alarm and the clatter of falling dishware abruptly cut off their conversation. Brian’s alarmed voice followed the racket, immediately stuttering, “Christ, I’m sorry! I didn’t see... wait, wh- who are you?” All three of their heads snapped around instantly to the kitchen.        

A woman was in the kitchen with Brian, standing unusually close to him. She was blonde, dressed in a dark red button down and denim jeans, and stared at Brian with pity and compassion. “Don’t worry,” Dean heard her say gently, “I can ease your pain.” she took a small step forward.

All three Hunters simultaneously leapt up and rushed into the kitchen- but they were already too late. The angel raised an outstretched hand, her palm emitting a bright pink glow, sparks of pink electricity jumping between her fingers. Brian barely had time to blink in alarm as her palm gently caressed the side of his face just as the three Hunters crossed the threshold.

Brian exploded. The pink, gooey, slime splattered every surface of the kitchen- and right across their faces, coating them in the disturbingly warm residue of granulated human. Diana let out a little scream as it hit them directly in the face, holding baby Tanya closer to her chest and trying to shield her from her father’s liquid remains. The baby was positively screaming now, her terrified, confused, wails reverberating around the kitchen. Dean shuddered as he wiped the warm goo from his eyes with one hand, and quickly withdrew his angel blade with the other. He could hear Sam sputtering and spitting, exclaiming in revulsion, “Oh fuck- some of it got in my _mouth-”_         

The angel watched their nauseated mortification with a tilted impassive head. Sam quickly composed himself; drawing his blade, still spitting out of the side of his mouth, his face twisted in disgust. Dean’s face hardened in rage and he tensed, posture fight ready. The marble island counter separated them from the angel, and Dean and Sam leaned to opposite sides, instinctually moving to flank her. The angel stiffened, her eyes glowing as pink as her palm, her halo flickering above her head. They stared each other down, braced for combat; Dean was just about to rush forward, when-

“Wait- wait, wait, wait!” Diana exclaimed from behind them. Despite themselves, everyone froze; Dean looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Diana was standing with a palm outstretched, still clutching the baby and spattered in the vestige of Brian, bits of it dripping from her hair and face. She was staring desperately at the angel, “What’s your name?”

“Is _now_ really the time-?!” Dean snapped agitated, but the angel cut him off, gazing at Diana as she answered her question calmly.

“Eshreal.”

“Eshreal.” Diana echoed relieved, “Listen to me- I know you and your brethren just arrived here. I know the Rit Zien are angels of mercy... but these people you’ve visited- they aren’t in need of that kind of mercy.”

“They were suffering.” Eshreal said flatly, uncomprehending.

“Yes, I know.” Diana admitted, “But humans can live with their pain- our sadness is sacred to us. It helps us remember those we’ve loved, helps us grow and heal... it's only temporary. Just because we suffer doesn’t mean life isn’t worth living. I know you believe you’re continuing doing Heaven’s work down here-”

“I know I am.” Eshreal said resolutely.

Dean saw Sam make an odd downward motion with his blade out of the corner of his eye, Sam’s fingers trailing over the corner of the counter. Diana kept speaking, “Perhaps.” she said cautiously, “But there may be a lot you don’t understand about humanity at first; if you would just stop-” she pleaded.

“' _Stop?’_ ” echoed Eshreal, “I cannot stop until I wash the planet clean of all suffering.”

“Suffering may be a hard thing to define-” Diana started to say, but Eshreal cut her off.

“I know you.” she said suddenly with narrowed eyes. “I’ve seen you before. With the traitor.”  

Diana didn’t say anything, and in the silence Tanya cried louder. Eshreal gazed at the newly orphaned baby in Diana’s arms with dispassionate eyes, stepping forward with an outstretched hand and saying, “Allow me.”

Dean and Sam stepped closer to each other, effectively putting themselves between the angel and the newborn. “You’re not going to lay a single goddamned finger on that baby.” Dean snarled.

“I have not come for the infant.” Eshreal said, catching Diana’s gaze “I can feel your pain- hear the sound of your sadness.” She looked between the three them, “The sound of suffering from all of you standing before me is nearly deafening; you have no idea how loud it is.”

“Yeah well, I happen to like my suffering lady.” Dean quipped, sensing diplomacy had failed.

“You don’t need to suffer so needlessly.” said Eshreal, “I can take the pain away, it will all be over soon.”

Sam took that as his queue and lunged forward, slamming his palm against the bloody sigil on the side of the counter. There was a blinding flash of white light tinged with pink as the angel screamed- and then she was gone- only the squelching drip of the pink goo broke the silence.“Move, move, move!” Dean barked, and the three of them rushed out of the kitchen and through the house.

They passed the Sheriff as they all but sprinted down the lawn. “What in the Hell-” he exclaimed at the sight of their pink splattered appearances.

Dean and Sam didn’t stop, and Diana only slowed to deposit the still screaming baby in the Sheriff’s arms, saying “Take care of her, and get back to the station!” before she ran after them, throwing herself in the backseat of the Impala as Dean started the engine. “She can’t be far, the spell only ejects them a few miles.” said Diana as they speed away from the house, the cries of baby Tanya fading in the distance, “Please hurry- I think they’re going to kill my friend.”

 

*****

 

Castiel finished hooking the Jeep up to the trailer and trudged inside. He had come to realize just how exhausting Hunting could be- that it wasn’t only physical exhaustion, but the fatigue of long days of research and investigation. Cas had found that human life itself was exhausting in many ways. Though he appreciated Harley’s friendship, the last few months without the Winchesters certainly had not been easy, and Castiel often worried what had become of them. He’d stopped holding his breath in anticipation of finding them- false hope, he’d learned, was a bitch- but he still missed Dean sharply at times.

It had finally stopped raining at least, the sun had begun to shine in thick rays through the parting rain clouds. Cas was alone in Harley’s trailer, it looked very much the same but now the few things Cas owned were scattered about the trailer and the bunk where he'd been sleeping. He had Harley had split up at the last crime scene to cover more ground while he discreetly swept the town and doubled back to the first crime scene; thankfully, it had paid off- he was now certain the married couple had been taken as vessels.

When he’d called Harley to exchange information, she told him two other Hunters had come to the scene after he’d left, also pretending to be FBI agents and she’d gone with them to the latest crime scene. It wasn’t the first time they’d encountered other Hunters in the few months they’d been travelling together, but they always proceeded with caution, Hunter's were particularly jumpy. Cas shrugged off the trench coat and hung it in his tiny cupboard of a closest, along with his suit jacket. As an angel, he’d never given any thought to how uncomfortable the coat and suit could be; but now, as he chucked off his slacks and tossed them on his small bunk, he can’t wait to be back in his jeans.

Castiel was standing in his socks and underwear; he’d only just finished loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt- when the trailer door burst open, the force of it enough to make it slam into the wall, rattling the windows; Cas jumped and spun around. A blonde man stepped through the doorway, his blue eyes sweeping the trailer. He was dressed in all black, and a glint of gold glittered from one ear, revealing a golden cross earring. A smirk adorned his lightly bearded face when his gaze settled on Castiel and his partially clothed appearance. “Hello Castiel.” The angel said as he pushed his way inside the trailer. “What a squalid little dump.” he said with a _tisk_ , “No wonder you suffer.”

Castiel recovered from his surprise and refocused. He’d found that as a human, he could still detect traces of Grace, and the essence of this one was familiar. “What are you doing here Ephraim?” he demanded, “How did you find me?”

“You remember my name?” Ephraim said, surprised. “I was just a nobody when we met, but you- you were a legend. I found you the same way I find all my patients. I just followed the sound of your pain. I could hear you for miles. Despite your warding.” he said with a sneer, eyeing one of Cas's tattoos with haughty distaste. 

Castiel was acutely aware of what it meant to be heard by the Rit Zien, but remained composed, covered the tattoo in question and said, “This planet has its effects on all of us I suppose.” While he talked to Ephraim, Castiel blindly grabbed a small box-cutter from the nearest tabletop.

Ephraim nodded, “You’ve been here before. It is my first time on this dusty little rock and its..." he took a deep breath, jaw clenching. "...intense.”

“Earth can be a hard place I know," Cas said calmly, "but humans, they can get better- they’re just trying to do the best they can.” Castiel pricked the tip of his finger and discreetly began to trace out the banishing sigil.  

But Ephraim noticed, and with a snap of his fingers, the box-cutter flew from Castiel’s grasp and into his outstretched hand, the blood gone and Cas’s finger healed. “Is that what you think you’re doing Castiel- the best you can?” he asked, disgusted. Ephraim crumpled the box cutter in his palm as if it were made of clay, he dropped it in a warped lump on the floor with a dull _thunk._ “Well I’m sorry, but if this is the best that the famed Castiel can do, you’re a more urgent case than I thought.” Castiel's phone began to ring, Harley's familiar ringtone chiming from its place on the table. Ephraim ignored it. “I used to admire you- you failed more often than you succeeded, but at least you played big.” Ephraim sighed, “I want you to know, I consider this an honor.” he said not unkindly, “Don’t worry, it will be over soon. All the pain will be gone.”

Cas stepped back when Ephraim stepped forward, but there was hardly anywhere to go. His weapons were all currently out of reach; he wished he were wearing pants. “I want to _live._ ” Castiel insisted, resolute, through gritted teeth. It was true, adapting to being human was not easy, and had come with a surprising amount of pain, sorrow, and guilt, but that didn’t mean he wanted it to end.

“But as what, Castiel?" Ephraim questioned, "As an angel or a man?” his eye glowed pink. “You say you want to live, but you can’t see what I see. By choosing human life, you’ve already given up.” his halo appeared above his head, pink sparks intertwined with blue. “You chose death.” Ephraim raised his hand, pink sparks flying from his fingers and the glow in his palm growing.

Cas only just managed to duck make a grab for the stem of Harley's bong sitting on the counter. Wielding it like a mace, he bludgeoned Ephraim in the face with the bulb, shattering the bong in an explosion of glass and bongwater, shards embedding themselves in Ephraim’s eyes. Cas thrust forward with the jagged bong stem sinking it into his adversary’s chest with a wet squelch.

Ephraim howled and clawed at his eyes. Temporarily blinded, his wings erupted from his back, filling the cramped space with thrashing pink plumage that splintered the cupboards and dented the metal walls. Castiel used the distraction to dive through the feathery fray and across the trailer; yanking the ax from the wall where it hung and turning to face his opponent. Ephraim spun to face him, rivulets of blood streaming down his face from his bleeding eyes. His beating wings knocked all loose items to the ground; Cas's phone rang again from where it had fallen, but he couldn't risk trying to answer it. Castiel knew that though the angel could not see him, Ephraim could still sense him; and if he got his hands on Castiel even just once, he was dead. Distance was key in this fight. Ephraim hissed at him, the sound inhuman; his vibrant pink plumage puffed up, ready for a fight.

The muggy, putrid, smell of bongwater and blood was strong in Cas’s nose as he gripped his weapon and reared his arm back and let the ax fly. The air whistled over the blade as it spun through the air and embedded itself in the flesh of Ephraim’s humerus- where his wing connected to his body. Blood gushed from the wound as Ephraim fell back shrieking, the sound shattering the windows of the trailer and making his ears ring. Castiel seized his opportunity and managed to grab his keys, blade, and pistol from the trailer floor before he burst through the door and into the twilit evening- still clad only in his shirt, askew tie, underwear and socks- grim with knowledge that this fight far from over, and he'd likely have to fight it alone.

Castiel took a deep breath and thought to himself, _Keep moving. To hesitate is to die._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this chapter _definitely _wasn't easy to write, and it ended up being longer than I expected, but hey- here it is.__  
>  If you're interested:   
>  -I just want the boys to be nicer to Kevin! That poor kid goes through _a lot! ___  
> -I absolutely hated what they chose to do to Cas in 9x02- and I was pissed how the thing with April turned out- that whole thing was super rapey, it was uncomfortable, so I ignored it, but tried to keep the essence of what I did like about the episode.  
>  -I really liked the Rit Zien- and really wanted to put my own spin on it, let me know if you liked it. i'm trying to keep updating as frequently as possible.


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